


The Blooming

by BlueSimplicity



Series: You Are Responsible For What You Tame [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Bucky Barnes, BAMF Steve Rogers, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes After Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Flashbacks, Fluff and Crack, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Hair Brushing, Home Improvement, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kittens, Let's Just Pretend Everything After The Winter Soldier Didn't Happen, M/M, Memory Loss, Mutual Healing, Mutual Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Puerto Rican Food, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recovery, Roommates, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Slow Burn, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson Friendship, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Thor (Marvel) is a Good Bro, Unresolved Sexual Tension, so much love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-08-17 05:49:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 47
Words: 251,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16510529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueSimplicity/pseuds/BlueSimplicity
Summary: It’s been two and a half years since that day in DC that changed Steve and Bucky’s lives, filled with pain, heartbreak, horrible setbacks and despair. But there's also been growth, laughter, friendship, and love, as Bucky and Steve worked not just to rebuild the old house where they once lived, but also the bond they've always shared, thicker than blood. And Steve loves Bucky so much it hurts. He always has, and it’s a secret he’s long learned how to keep to himself. But Bucky has secrets of his own, quite a few of them; some out of fear, and some because there are things precious to him that he wants to keep safe. But they've always been at their best when standing side by side. As they come face to face with even more changes and challenges, they’ll have to have faith in both each other and themselves, and believe that the roots they have laid down are steady and strong. If they can do that, and after long last admit their own truths, only then will the garden of their lives have the chance to bloom.That’s if, and only if, they can overcome the first secret Bucky has kept. Because Bucky has finally remembered everything Steve once was to him. And if Steve can survive it, his life will never be the same.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story, and ultimately this series, is dedicated to the memory of my father. You may have noticed that all of the opening quotes are from Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s The Little Prince. It was one of the first books I remember my father reading to me, and I thought the quotes perfectly summed up Steve and Bucky’s journey. My father was one of the gentlest men you could ever hope to meet, and the hours he spent reading to his only child inspired a love of stories that eventually, decades later, turned into a love of writing as well. This one’s for you Dad. Miss you.
> 
> This story is also dedicated to every single one of you who has decided to go on this journey of Bucky and Steve with me. To each and every one who has read this series, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I hope you’ll continue to stay with me as I bring Bucky and Steve on the last leg of their story and to the happy ending we all know they deserve. Thank you.
> 
> I would be remiss here if I did not give a HUGE shout out to Merry_rf. She once again donated so much time and attention to helping make this story the best it could possibly be. Seriously, it would be nowhere near as cohesive as it is if not for both her monumental and miraculous efforts. When I first reached out to her, I was looking for a beta. But I also ended up with a wonderful friend. **hugs** to you, my dear. You deserve ALL the good things.
> 
> I also have to give a huge thank you to mags-duranb. I wanted a cover for this final part of the Responsible for What You Tame series. When I found out she was not only an amazing person, but an artist as well, I commissioned her to create the beautiful cover you see just below. She was extremely professional, (as well as supportive when I told her some of my doubts about this story), and has also become a good friend. Her commissions are temporarily closed, but you can find her on Tumblr @ mags-duranb.tumblr.com.
> 
> The story is complete at this point, and I promise to update at least once, but more than likely twice a week. I will try to post a new chapter every Tuesday and Friday. And just because it needs to be said, all comments are greatly treasured and appreciated, and I respond to each and every one. 
> 
> One last bit here. **points to the tags** There are some dark things that happen in this fic. And while I want everyone who reads The Blooming to enjoy this story, I also want you all to be doing it safely. So, with that said, PLEASE NOTE that I will tag any possibly upsetting chapter with a trigger warning at the beginning so that you as a reader are free to make your own choices. I adore you all, and the last thing I want is to unintentionally hurt anyone reading this. And if you feel that something I have written needs to be tagged and isn’t, please let me know as well.
> 
> All right then, with all that said, this one’s a long one guys. So, let’s get started, shall we? It’s gonna be a bumpy ride. =)

**You Are Responsible For What You Tame**

**PART THREE**

**The Blooming**

 

_“People have forgotten this truth. But you mustn’t forget it. You are responsible forever for what you have tamed.”_

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

 

 

“What were we to each other Steve?”

 

Bucky’s voice was quiet as it carried over the air of Steve’s still unfinished art studio, to where Steve was kneeling, sanding over the distortions on the floor where the wall had once been. Soft yet focused, with a hint of something Steve could not quite identify. Curious, yes. Intense, absolutely, in the way almost all of Bucky’s words were. But there was something else there. Something _new_ that had Steve glancing up from his work to stare at him.

 

Bucky was looking back at him, but there were none of the usual tells to give Steve any indication of what he was feeling. His head wasn’t tilted to the side, and he hadn’t lowered his face to hide behind his hair. He was just kneeling there on the opposite side of the room, staring at Steve calmly, a scouring pad in his hands.

 

“Jesus Christ, Bucky,” Steve laughed, going back to sanding the floor. “We’ve been living together for months, and working on the house even longer than that. Are you just now getting around to telling me that you don’t know who I am?”

 

“No, I know who you are, Stevie,” Bucky said in that same voice, his gaze never wavering. Steve could still feel it, like he always could whenever Bucky’s eyes were on him, and it had once more returned to being the protective comfort it had always been. “We’ve been closer than brothers, best friends, for all of our lives…But, were we ever more than that?”

 

Steve froze. Because the answer to that question, those seven simple words, was a maelstrom of _hurt_ and _want_ and _need_ and _burning_ _desperate_ _love_. Secrets that Steve alone had carried deep and hidden in his heart for over eighty years.

 

“What?” he asked, wishing he had his shield to hide behind. He could deflect anything with it, and there was nothing he wanted to do less than answer the question Bucky had just asked him. “What are you talking about, Buck?”

 

But Bucky had always been able to see through every shield Steve had tried to use, whether vibranium or words, because he just knew Steve that well, and had made it his life’s goal, no matter what century they were living in, to keep Steve safe.

 

Except, it seemed, this time.

 

“Were we ever anything more to each other, Steve?” he asked again in the same tone as before. Steve’s throat was suddenly as dry as a desert, and he could feel a slow heat rising from his stomach to his neck and up into his cheeks. And of course, Bucky noticed; he had never needed any super serum with its enhancement to his senses, sniper’s focus or training from HYDRA to be able to perceive even the subtlest of shifts in Steve’s body. He tilted his head slightly to the side, with a barely perceptible narrowing of his eyes and kept all of his attention on Steve.

 

“Uh…” was all Steve could stammer. Bucky continued to stare at him, searching, searching, searching for something, until he must have found the answer he was looking for.

 

“Ah,” he said with a slight nod, before he lowered his head and went back to working on the floor.

 

Steve had to swallow three times before he could speak. “Ah?” he asked, never pulling his gaze from Bucky as he resumed sanding the uneven bits of his section of the floor.

 

“Ah,” Bucky repeated with another nod, before he lifted his head and once more turned to Steve. “Unless there’s something that you think I should know Stevie?”

 

Steve found himself staring at Bucky’s face, his beautiful, beloved face, that Steve knew better than his own, and into Bucky’s eyes, a pale blue that was as bright as the summer sky and as vast any ocean, and realized that, once again, he did not have any words. What could he say to the one person he had always loved more than anything or anyone else in his life? Who would have gone to his grave not knowing how Steve’s heart beat, how it had always beat simply because of his presence in Steve’s life, if not for some cruel twist of fate and an evil man’s desire to create a super soldier of his own. A man with his own demons, demons that had brought both of them nothing but pain for the past two years, yet who was here now and had promised to never, ever leave Steve again. A man whom he knew would keep his word to Steve until his dying breath and probably beyond, who was staring at him from across the room and asking Steve the one question he did not want to answer.


	2. Reconnecting

It had been surprisingly easy to slip back into the rhythm of their life. Or at least for Bucky it seemed to be. In the three weeks since he had returned, it was Steve who found himself struggling initially to regain his equilibrium after the devastating loss of Bucky’s absence. He hadn’t wanted to leave the house, nor let Bucky out of his sight for more than a few minutes, and for the first time since they had come back together since the Second World War, it was Steve who was the more nervous and twitchier of the two.

 

Bucky noticed, of course he noticed, and as always, he put all of his energies toward taking care of Steve. That first night, when he released Steve from his embrace, Steve had clung desperately to his shoulders and pressed his face into Bucky’s neck to feel his pulse, hear the thrum of his heartbeat, and smell the familiar scent of his hair, clove and cinnamon and _Bucky._ Bucky had taken a step back and once again ran his eyes over Steve in his usual careful study. The battle had been bad, but not horrific. There were no civilian casualties and all his teammates had been able to walk away from it mostly unharmed, due in large part to Bucky’s actions. But it had been close, especially when Steve had been fighting against Rumlow, and the ring of ugly, purpling bruises around his neck were a testament to that. Steve had forgotten about them, and the soreness of his throat in his rush to catch up to Bucky. But Bucky certainly hadn’t. He reached out and carefully unhooked the collar of Steve’s uniform, and then made a clicking sound with his teeth before he was turning Steve and shoving him up the stairs, ignoring Steve’s protests as he ordered him to shower and change, and then meet him downstairs in the kitchen so that Bucky could feed and look after him.

 

It was the fastest shower Steve had ever taken in his life. When he got back down to the kitchen, Bucky was already there. He had changed out of the black tac pants and vest that had been HYDRA’s uniform for him, and into a faded pair of jeans and a sweatshirt Steve didn’t recognize. He had pulled his hair, longer than Steve had ever seen it, into a high ponytail at the back of his head, and was standing over the stove, heating up a pot of soup. And on the kitchen table, there was a steaming cup of tea, its wisps rising to fill the kitchen with the scents of peppermint and honey; Bucky’s favorite form of self-comfort, and he had prepared some especially for Steve.

 

Steve nearly collapsed against the door frame in his relief. Bucky turned to him then, taking in the expression on Steve’s face, and gave him a small but sincere smile.

 

“Yes Stevie, I’m still here,” he said and nodded toward the table. “And yes, that’s for you.”

 

“Thank you,” Steve sighed out, stumbling toward the table, nearly dizzy with gratefulness.

 

“You’re welcome,” Bucky told him and placed a bowl of chicken soup in front of Steve. “Now eat this, it’ll help your throat.”

 

They didn’t say much to each other for the rest of the night. Silence from Bucky wasn’t unusual. But for Steve, it was because there were too many words clogged in his throat  ( _thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyoudon’tleavedon’tleavedon’tleavepleasedon’tleavemeagainthankyouthankyouthankyou_ ) and he had to struggle past them to drink his tea and swallow his soup. Bucky watched him as he ate, something both sad and warm in his eyes, but calm, where before there had been a furious fire and thunderous rage at the risks he felt Steve had taken, the threat to his life. But he just sat and was quiet, sharing his presence with Steve and making sure, as always, that Steve got most of the food.

 

It was a peaceful hour, the most peaceful one Steve’d had in months. He hadn’t wanted to leave the sanctuary of the kitchen, but after Bucky watched him yawn for the fifth time in less than four minutes, he ordered him upstairs and into bed.

 

Just before he left, when he paused to catch one last glance of Bucky as he carried Steve’s dishes to the sink, Bucky slowly looked around and then turned back to him.

 

“I really love what you did with the kitchen Stevie,” he said with a smile. “It looks great. It was nice to come home to.”

 

Steve nodded, before he turned around and made his way to his bedroom, still unable to speak. Because the words were there, too big for his voice, too powerful for even his heart, and if he tried to free them, they would cut through his throat in unintelligible sobs.

 

_Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou._

 

***

 

The peace lasted until the next day, when Steve almost lost it and very nearly strangled Bucky.

 

He woke to the scents of bacon, toast, and coffee wafting in the morning air. When he went into the kitchen, Bucky was already there, in jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt this time, his still wet hair once again pulled back into a high ponytail, scrambling some eggs. He smiled at Steve, small but sincere, and then nodded to the counter.

 

“Coffee’s ready,” he said, and then turned back to the stove.

 

Steve fixed himself a cup and sat, watching Bucky as he cooked and then settled at the table, after serving both of them a generous helping of eggs and bacon.

 

“So, what are your plans for the day?” Bucky asked as Steve salted his food.

 

“Staying here, why?”

 

Bucky’s brows furrowed at Steve’s response. “Don’t you have to head into the city and debrief with your teammates?”

 

“I don’t have to go into Manhattan for that. I can do that from here via video conference on my phone.”

 

“Seriously? After everything that happened last night, you don’t want to see for yourself that they’re all okay?”

 

“After _everything that happened last night_ , I kinda want to stay here.” Steve knew Bucky was right. He needed to check in, make sure everyone and everything was secure, and that the weapons HYDRA had stolen had been retrieved and were no longer a threat to the world. And his friends were definitely going to want to know what happened after Steve had left. But it had been months, _months_ since he’d last seen Bucky, and Steve was not willing to let him out of his sight. Would maybe never be able to let him out of his sight ever again. Just the thought of it alone made Steve’s stomach churn hot and heavy.

 

“They’re your teammates Steve,” Bucky persisted.

 

“Oh now suddenly they’re my teammates? Not ‘those fucking useless idiots who don’t know how to do their damned jobs?’” Steve forced a dry laugh from his lips as he reached for three more slices of bacon and a piece of toast.

 

“Yeah Stevie.” Bucky’s voice was just as dry as Steve’s had been. “ _Them._ ”

 

“They’re also my friends, _Bucky_ , and they know how worried about you I’ve been these past few months, so they’ll understand.” Steve knew they would. Those people, the Avengers, his teammates, his friends, had all rallied around Steve during Bucky’s absence, refusing to allow Steve to shut them out, and keeping him from sinking into an even deeper darkness than he had. He would never be able to repay them enough for that, but before he could even try, he was going to ask this one last thing from them. For just a little bit of time and privacy, so he could pull himself and his life back together now that Bucky had returned. Just a little bit more, when they had all given him so much already. He knew they would understand.

 

They may have understood, but Bucky didn’t seem to. Or didn’t seem to want to as he continued to press.

 

“And you don’t want to lay eyes on them, just to make sure?” he asked, sliding the tub of butter directly in front of Steve. There was something in his voice, an undercurrent to his tone that had Steve looking up at him for the first time since he sat down. Bucky was buttering his own toast, all his attention on the task. But Steve knew Bucky, still knew him better than anyone alive or dead, and he recognized the ruse for what it was.

 

“Why are you so intent on getting me out of the house?”

 

“They’re your teammates Steve, and you’re their Captain. They need- “

 

“ _Bucky,_ ” Steve growled. Bucky sighed, stopped buttering his toast and lowered the knife he had been holding to his plate.

 

“So, I know I promised last night that I would never leave again. And I meant it Stevie, I swear to you, I did.”

 

“ _Bucky._ ”

 

But then Bucky did something strange, and instead of lowering his face or hiding behind his hair, he straightened in his chair and met Steve’s gaze head on. There was something new in his eyes; it had all of Bucky’s steely determination and intelligence, and all of the Winter Soldier’s indomitable cunning. But there was also a calm there, where the two were combined in his center that Steve had never seen before, steady, deep and still.

 

“So, yesterday when I found out that HYDRA was planning to send that asshole Rumlow and a whole team of their shitheads to attack Washington Heights –“

 

“And exactly how did you find that out?” Steve cut in.

 

“- I realized I had to get back to the city pretty damned quickly, since I knew you would be out there doing something stupid, and I was right, you were,” Bucky ignored him and went on. “So I needed transportation ASAP, and Mrs. Salvatore, she may be a bit of a chatterbox, but she’s a nice old lady, makes a mean spaghetti and meatballs by the way, and when I told her I had a friend in trouble, she said I could borrow her car, as long as I got it back to her as soon as possible.”

 

“Wait? What? Who’s Mrs. Salvatore?”

 

“My landlady.”

 

“Your landlady.”

 

“Yep. And since I need to get her car back to her and pick up the rest of my stuff, I figured I can go do that while you check in with your teammates. Shouldn’t take me too long, coupla hours at the most.”

 

“At the most,” Steve heard himself repeating.

 

“No longer than a day, maybe two, since I’m going to have to take the bus back and I’ll probably have to transfer at some point. Bus service can be real shitty in upstate New York.”

 

“Upstate New York?”

 

“Rochester, to be exact,” Bucky said in that same calm and even tone he had been using for the entirety of the conversation.

 

“Are you telling me that while I was going out of my mind with worry, looking for you, you were in fucking Rochester, New York the _entire time?_ ” Steve’s teeth were hurting he was gritting them so hard.

 

“Well no, not the entire time. Just the past six weeks or so.”

 

“Bucky!” Steve hissed, fury and frustration a slick and bitter burn of acid in his veins. Bucky just sat there, looking at him in the way that he always did, even back when they were kids, when Steve was furious and enraged about something else in their lives, their world, and needed to spit out his anger at the injustice of it all. Bucky had always just stood there and let him, his body, his presence, the wall against which Steve could hurl all his rage until it shattered and then together the two of them would pick up the pieces. Yet now there was this new calm in Bucky, solid and steady as it had ever been, but even deeper than it had run before. He sat there, easy and relaxed, watching Steve with his knowing insight, until Steve finally had to let it go in order to take a breath.

 

“Betcha never thought of looking for me there, didja Captain?” he added, just as Steve’s hands had started to unclench.

 

And Steve wanted to punch him. He really, really did.

 

***

 

They ended up doing what had become their fallback plan in this new stage of their lives, and compromised. Bucky wasn’t joking, and Steve knew he was right when he insisted that Steve needed to go to Avengers Tower and deal with the aftermath of the previous day’s attack. In exchange for Steve agreeing to go, Bucky promised to wait until tomorrow to return his landlady’s car when Steve could accompany him, for his own peace of mind if nothing else.

 

As Steve got ready to leave, he heard Bucky speaking warmly to somebody on his cell, apologizing for the delay and assuring them he would be there by late tomorrow morning. Steve was standing in the foyer, watching Bucky and waiting for him to end the call so he could get his new number, when his own phone vibrated in his pocket.

 

 **Message from 347-555-0872**: _My new number. Last one you’ll ever need. I promise you. Now go check in with your team._

 

When Steve looked up, Bucky was smiling at him. Steve nodded and Bucky winked back, and then waved Steve out the door.

 

***

 

It was the right decision, Steve had to admit, as he made his way into the Tower and found everyone already gathered together, going over what had happened. There was actually very little clean-up to do. The weapons had been recovered and Tony had seen to it that they were destroyed. A few civilians had been hurt, but there were no fatalities, and there was minimal property damage. The only ones who had been killed were members of HYDRA, and most of those were because of Bucky. His deadly skills had helped turn the tide of the battle, and no one was going to bemoan the loss of a few HYDRA assholes, while the remaining agents had been corralled and brought in for further questioning. Steve, as well as everyone else, knew it would more than likely be futile in the end. The members of HYRDA were always fanatical in their devotion, and many would rather die than reveal the secrets of their organization. But most, if not all of them, would spend the rest of their lives in prison, and the world would be a better place for it.

 

He and Tony avoided each other as much as possible that afternoon, just as they had for the past two and a half months. But the rest of his friends had approached him at some point, each in their own way and with their own questions.

 

Bruce had been first, coming forward and quietly looking into Steve’s eyes. When Steve smiled and nodded at him, Bruce reached out and gave his upper arm a gentle squeeze, a rare gesture from the very reserved but very kind man.

 

Maria had been next, sharp and determined as she asked question after question about the sniper, wanting to know if there was some way he could be brought onto the team. Steve had deflected, but he assured her that he was an ally, and could probably be counted on to provide back up in the future. Maria nodded at his words, and then smiled a small, tight smile, before she too reached out and took Steve’s hands into her own.

 

“I’m glad then,” was all she said, before she let go, turned around and left the room.

 

All Clint wanted to talk about were the shots Bucky had taken, and _oh my god, how did he even make those, where had he taken them from, holy shit that motherfucker was fast,_ and when could Clint meet him, because he wanted to sit, have a cup of coffee, and talk shop with anyone who was that good.

 

“I don’t know,” was all Steve could say to each of Clint’s questions. Clint just shrugged as if that was the expected answer, but before he too turned to go, he stopped and stared at Steve with nothing but compassion in his eyes.

 

“Tell your friend that if he ever wants to talk to somebody who’s been through some of the same things he has, he can call me anytime.”

 

The offer left Steve speechless, so he could only nod. Clint then stepped forward to give Steve a quick but tight hug, whispering “Good luck,” in his ear, before he stepped back and walked away.

 

Natasha didn’t say anything to him when she approached. Just took his hands in hers and looked up into his eyes. Steve met her gaze with his own, allowing her to study him until she must have seen something that pleased her.

 

“Yes?” she asked with a small smile.

 

“Yes,” Steve answered, squeezing her hands. “But you can’t Natasha, you have to-“

 

“No Steven, no,” she assured him, something gentle and unassuming in her eyes, and more honest than anything Steve had ever seen from her. “I promise you, with everything I am, that I will stay out of it this time.” And Steve believed her.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“But my offer is the same as Clint’s. Tell Bucky that if he ever needs to talk to someone who’s been where he is, and can offer some advice, that I’m here. I can’t change what happened in the past, and let him know that I’m sorry for that too. But I can help him if he ever needs it in the future.” She leaned forward, rising to the balls of her feet to place a gentle kiss to his cheek, before she let go of his hands and turned to join Clint.

 

Sam was last. He had watched each exchange from against a back wall, his arms crossed, waiting for Steve to join him once everyone was gone. He gave Steve a few minutes to catch his breath, to marvel at the compassion and support that his friends had offered him, before he finally spoke.

 

“So, he’s back then?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair. “He is.”

 

“For good this time?”

 

“Yeah, for good.”

 

“And how can you be sure?”

 

“Because he promised me. He promised me for good this time, and he –“

 

“Always keeps his promises when he makes them to you,” Sam repeated the words Steve had said to him, what seemed like decades ago that morning in Sam’s kitchen.

 

“Yeah Sam, he does.”

 

“Okay,” Sam said with a nod. “Okay.”

 

They stood there together, leaning against the wall, the quiet a comfort between them both, until eventually Sam snorted and shook his head.

 

“That boy sure as shit has an instinct when it comes to you.”

 

“You have no idea,” Steve snickered, resting his head back against the wall and closing his eyes.

 

“Damn good shot though.”

 

“The best. Always was.” Steve sighed before he opened his eyes and pushed himself off the wall. “Anyway, I need to get back.”

 

“Yeah, I figured you would,” Sam said, following Steve as he made his way to the door. “Keep me in the loop, alright, and let me know if you need anything.”

 

“Will do. And thanks Sam, for everything.” Steve was just turning to say goodbye, when Sam reached out and pulled him into a tight hug.

 

“Good luck Steve. I hope it all works out for you this time.” Sam gave his back one last slap before he let go and watched as Steve walked away.

 

When Steve finally made it back to 52nd Street and stepped into the row house, it was to the smell of Puerto Rican food and Bucky’s smile, waiting to welcome him back home.

 

***

 

“Soooo….” Steve drawled as he stood on the street with Bucky the very next morning. “This is your landlady’s car?”

 

“Yep,” came Bucky’s reply.

 

“And you drove all the way from Rochester to here in it?”

 

“In under three hours.”

 

“Bucky, that’s a Volkswagen Beetle.”

 

“Yep.”

 

“It’s yellow.”

 

“Your point?”

 

“It’s gotta be at least fifty years old.”

 

“And when were you born Stevie?”

 

“I think there’s a dead rat hanging from the rearview mirror.”

 

“It’s a raccoon’s tail Steve.”

 

“Riiiiiiight.”

 

“Look, are you coming with me or not? Because if you are, you need to get your ass in the car so we can hit the road. It’s going to take us a couple of hours to drive there, and I would like to get to Rochester sometime today, if that’s all right with you.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Steve said, taking a step back. “Tell you what. I’m going to go get my SUV and I’ll follow you up. That way we’ll have plenty of room for all of your stuff and won’t have to rent a car.”

 

“Are you serious?”  Bucky turned to glare at him, but Steve was already backing away down the street.

 

“Just give me five. I’ll be right back.”

 

“Wimp!” But by that point, Steve had made it to the corner and was dashing away.

 

***

 

The drive to Rochester took them just over six and a half hours, Bucky leading in that little monstrosity he kept insisting was a car, and Steve following at what he considered a barely respectable distance of two hundred feet. They probably could have made it there a lot quicker, but Bucky insisted on making pit stops. The first was at a McDonalds, where he ordered a huge breakfast, with three extra hash browns and a large coffee. The second one was at a Starbucks, where he picked up a brownie, two cookies and a caramel Venti latte. Two hours later, it was McDonalds again, for three Big Macs, two extra-large fries, five apple pies and a milkshake. Normally, Steve wouldn’t have minded. But the problem was Bucky kept insisting on stopping and eating his food at each location, instead of getting it to go like most people with a long journey ahead of them.

 

“You do know they have these amazing things called drive-thrus now, don’t you?” Steve asked as he stepped out of the SUV in the spot next to the one where Bucky had parked the yellow monstrosity.

 

“Yeah, so?” Bucky was locking the car’s door, not even bothering to look at Steve when he spoke.

 

“And, that you can eat your food in the car while you drive.”

 

“And risk getting Lola dirty? That’s no way to treat a lady, Stevie.”

 

“Lola? Who’s Lola?” Steve was confused. Bucky rolled his eyes and pointed to the car, as if Steve was the one who wasn’t making any sense. “Wait a minute. Are you telling me that thing’s name is Lola?”

 

“She’s not a thing Steve. She’s a lady. Show her some respect,” Bucky said in all seriousness, frowning at Steve.

 

All of a sudden, out of the blue, Steve found himself laughing. Laughing, laughing, laughing, with his whole body, to the point where his stomach hurt and he had to lean back against the open door of his SUV to keep himself from falling over. Because it was just so Bucky, and Bucky’s sense of humor, and Steve couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed that hard.

 

And then, just as suddenly, he was crying, sobbing against that same door, _because it was just so Bucky_ , and Steve couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed that hard. Months, it had been months, and the tears for what he had gone through, for all the loss and pain and loneliness were coming and he couldn’t make them stop.

 

“ _Oh, Stevie_ ,” he heard Bucky say, then felt his arms wrapping around him, pulling him in, pressing Steve’s face against his neck, as if he knew that was the one place, the only place, wrapped in Bucky’s scent, where Steve always felt safe. “I am so, so sorry Stevie. I hurt you so badly this last time. I was an asshole, and I should never have left you like that, but I promise you I will never do it again, and I am so fucking sorry for what I did.”

 

“It’s all right,” Steve finally managed to mumble, only to feel Bucky shake his head.

 

“No Stevie, it’s not. It’s never okay for you to get hurt.” Bucky was pressing him backwards, until Steve’s shoulders and back were resting against the inside of the SUV’s door, while Bucky shielded the front of Steve’s body with his own. It was a small space Bucky had created, but it was private and hidden, and no one would ever know that Captain America was having a breakdown in the parking lot of a McDonalds somewhere on Route 81 in upstate New York. No one but Bucky, and he would never tell.

 

It took a good ten minutes before Steve was able to stop, Bucky holding him the entire time. But when Steve finally lifted his head from Bucky’s shoulder, using the tissues Bucky held out for him to wipe his eyes and blow his nose, he realized that something in him had released. The pit that had been lodged in his chest ever since Bucky had turned away from him in that alleyway back at the end of November had cracked, and with it had also gone all of the pain, resentment and brutal, bitter loneliness that had locked Steve in its embrace. Some of it remained but he knew now that it would eventually fade. His heart still felt tender and raw, but better than it had. And it was beating, throbbing, rising in his chest, reaching for the only other heartbeat it wanted to synch with its own, who was standing with Steve as he had always stood, watchful, protective and making sure that Steve was safe.

 

“Sorry,” Steve said, reaching for the second tissue Bucky held out for him.

 

“You ain’t got nothing to apologize for Stevie. Especially not to me.”

 

“I’m okay now.” And he was. His face was probably a wreck, but otherwise he felt okay. Better than he had in a long time, truth be told. Bucky carefully studied Steve one final time, before he nodded and shifted to the side, moving so that he was next to Steve, leaning against the body of the truck.

 

“You feel up to coming inside, or do you want me to grab you something and bring it out here to you instead?”

 

“Ugh.” Steve shook his head. “I really don’t feel like having to deal with anyone else right now, to be honest.”

 

“’Kay.” Bucky gave Steve’s knee a gentle slap. “You stay out here and keep Lola company. You should get to know her better. Smoothest ride I’ve ever had. I’ll be right back.” Steve laughed, just as Bucky intended, and then sat in the SUV waiting for him to come back.

 

After Bucky’s order of three Big Macs, two extra-large fries, five apple pies and a milkshake, they were on the road, covering the final stretch to Rochester, and Steve was feeling better than he had in months.

 

Forty minutes later, Steve was pulling up in front of a yellow and grey two-family home, while Bucky backed Lola into the garage. Steve had just turned off the ignition, when the front door of the house opened, and an older woman with short curly white hair, wearing a yellow peasant blouse and a matching flowing skirt stepped out, walking over to the garage with a surprisingly strong stride for someone her age. Steve watched her as he exited his truck, while the woman went over to Bucky, reached for his shoulders and pulled him into an embrace.

 

“And your friend, the one you said was too stupid to keep out of trouble, he’s okay Jamie?” Steve heard her ask as he approached.

 

“Yeah, I managed to get there in time to save his ass, so he’s okay now,” Bucky was saying with a smile. Steve cleared his throat, loudly, drawing their attention. Bucky just rolled his eyes, but the woman, who must have been the infamous Mrs. Salvatore, froze, staring at Steve with a shocked expression.  

 

“Is this…Is this your friend Jamie?” she finally managed to ask, suddenly looking a lot more flustered than she had before.

 

“Yeah, _Jamie_ ,” Steve said. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes again before saying, “Mrs. Salvatore, this is Steve Rogers. Steve, this is Mrs. Salvatore, my landlady.”

 

“Nice to meet you Mrs. Salvatore.” Steve held his hand out. “ _Jamie_ over here has told me so much about you, and I wanted to get a chance to meet you.” Mrs. Salvatore continued to stare at him, blinking once, twice, then a third time before she lifted her arm toward Steve. Her fingers were long and cool, but her grip steady and firm as she held Steve’s hand in her own.

 

“Jamie…That’s – that’s Captain America,” she finally said.

 

“Yeah I know.”

 

“And _he’s_ the friend you were talking about? The one you said needed your help?” she asked as she let go of Steve’s hand.

 

“Yep.”

 

“Pleasure to meet you, Ma’am,” Steve said, making sure to use his most charming smile. She blinked at him again, and then quicker than a flash turned and punched Bucky in his right arm.

 

“Ow!” Bucky cried, lifting his metal hand to the spot she had just hit. “What the hell was that for?”

 

“You said he was dumber than a chicken, and that his brain was just as small!” she accused.

 

“Oh, did he now?” Steve asked dryly.

 

“Yes, he did,” Mrs. Salvatore said before she turned and hit Bucky again. “And then you said he was dropped on his head a lot when he was a kid, and couldn’t find his way out of a paper bag even if the lights were on. And here I was worried about you going to try and help your poor, dumb friend, when all of the while you were talking about Captain America?”

 

“Dropped on my head a lot, was I?” Steve was really starting to enjoy this, watching as Mrs. Salvatore kept punching Bucky’s arm, when suddenly Bucky glanced at Steve, saw the smug expression on his face, and straightened.

 

“He doesn’t like Lola,” he declared.

 

“What?” Mrs. Salvatore’s hand froze mid-air as she registered Bucky’s words.

 

“He refused to even get into the car with me, saying he was embarrassed because she was yellow and too old to be seen with.”

 

“ _What?_ ” Mrs. Salvatore asked again.

 

_Uh-oh._

 

“And then, while we were on the highway, he made sure to drive way, way behind me, at least two hundred feet, because he was worried someone was going to see Lola next to his fancy SUV and think we were driving up here together,” Bucky went on.

 

“Oh really?” Mrs. Salvatore had turned and was now directing her glare (and her fist) in Steve’s direction.

 

“Um…” Steve took a step back.

 

“He said your good luck charm looked like a dead rat.”

 

“It’s a raccoon’s tail!”

 

“I told him that, but he still refused to go anywhere near Lola.” Bucky was grinning at him, all teeth and malicious glee, from behind Mrs. Salvatore’s shoulder.

 

“Well then,” Mrs. Salvatore huffed. “If that’s the way he feels about things that are yellow and just a bit older than some, then he can wait out here in his fancy SUV, while me and you go inside and have a bit of lunch and a nice little chat. It’s your favorite, spaghetti and meatballs.” Mrs. Salvatore turned her back on Steve, and slid her arm through Bucky’s, leading him toward the house. “And you were right about your friend Jamie. He really is dumber than a box of rocks. Lola is a classic.”

 

“She drives like a dream, Mrs. Salvatore.” As they reached the front door, Bucky cast one last glance at Steve with a sly little grin, before he followed his landlady into her yellow and grey house.

 

_Goddammit Bucky._

 

***

 

Five minutes later, Bucky stepped out of the house and approached Steve, cackling just once before he nudged Steve’s shoulder with his own, and then invited him inside.

 

The afternoon passed pleasantly enough, if a bit strangely after that. Steve watched as Bucky first informed and then apologized to Mrs. Salvatore about not being able to stay any longer, even offering to pay her next month’s rent, since he was leaving on such short notice. She waved him off, saying they had both agreed to a month by month arrangement when Bucky first moved in, and that Bucky had been a lovely tenant for the past six weeks. She was certainly going to miss him, but since he was leaving so soon, would he mind taking a look at her washing machine since it was still leaking, and Bucky had promised he would see if he could fix it before he’d had to leave to help his friend.

 

And that was how Steve found himself helping Bucky to fix a leaky washing machine, change a washer in the kitchen sink, double check the wiring of one of the living room light fixtures, and then hauling several boxes down the stairs from the attic and to the front porch so that they could be picked up by Goodwill the very next day.

 

“Why are we doing this again?” Steve muttered as he carried what must have been the tenth box of books down the stairs.

 

“Spaghetti and meatballs,” Bucky muttered back on his way up to the attic to collect another box.

 

Which Steve had to admit, once they were finally done and seated at Mrs. Salvatore’s dining room table, were absolutely, one hundred percent worth it.

 

But Bucky must have somehow been managing to sneak up to the apartment he had been renting throughout the course of the day. When Steve was finally able to pull himself away from Mrs. Salvatore and her lecture on the advantages of the classic Volkswagen Beetle over any newer car, and made it up to the room above the garage, Bucky was already there, zipping closed one of two duffel bags.

 

“Is this all you have?” Steve asked, taking a look around the room, curious about where and how Bucky had been living while he was gone. It was a small space, somewhat rundown, but it was clean and well-lit, with its own private bathroom. It wasn’t much, in all honesty, but it was better than Steve thought it would be. And he knew it was a hell of a lot nicer than anything Bucky had lived in during his first few desperate months of freedom after he escaped from HYDRA’s hold.

 

“Just this and a few other bags, but I already put those in the back of the truck,” Bucky told him as he rose to his feet and took one last look around.

 

“Uh-huh.” Steve crossed his arms and looked at Bucky. “And just how many guns are in my truck at the moment?”

 

“Enough that we should be safe if we don’t run into any trouble on our way back to Brooklyn,” was his answer.

 

“And just where did you get all of these guns from, Buck?”

 

Bucky shouldered one of his bags and lifted the other with his left hand, before he turned to stare at Steve with that new implacable calm Steve still hadn’t gotten used to just yet.

 

“From a HYDRA safe house. Two of them actually.” His voice was smooth and even when he spoke; steady, strong, and self-assured.

 

“You know we’re going to have to talk about this at some point, right?” Steve sighed, as he uncrossed his arms and took a step toward Bucky. “You probably have intel on HYDRA that nobody else does. And that information could go a real long way in helping to keep the world safe, making it a better place than it was just a few years ago.”

 

“Yeah, I know Stevie,” Bucky admitted after a moment. “I know there’s a shit-ton of stuff in my head that no one outside of HYDRA knows. Base and safe house locations, codes, and ways to track what they’re going to do, and the names of a lot of the assholes who are involved.” And then it was Bucky’s turn to sigh, and he lowered his head for the first time. “But can we just, just give it a little while before we start? I just got back, and I think we both need some time for things to settle a bit before we go looking for trouble. Find our rhythm again before we head back out there.”

 

“Of course, Buck,” Steve said, reaching down to take the second duffel from Bucky’s left hand, hefting it onto his shoulder before Bucky could protest. “I told you before, you take all the time that you need. It doesn’t even have to be me and you. Just the information you have is probably worth more than anything else. We can let other people handle it for a while until you’re ready.”

 

“Thanks Steve.”

 

“No problem Buck.” Steve came over to stand by Bucky, giving the back of his neck a quick shake with his hand. “Now come on, let’s go home.”

 

Twenty minutes later, after one final round of goodbyes, Steve was pulling away from the yellow and grey house, while Mrs. Salvatore stood in her doorway and waved. Bucky was in the seat beside him, holding a box containing four mason jars of Mrs. Salvatore’s tomato sauce and a large Tupperware container filled with over a dozen of her meatballs on his lap, smiling happily as Steve drove them back to Brooklyn.

 

***

 

That had been three weeks ago. It had not been easy, and had taken them some time, but eventually they found their way, as they always did, into a new rhythm that suited them both.

 

This time it had been Steve who had struggled the most. Their last separation had been harder on him than Bucky. Bucky hadn’t lost any weight during the past few months, and while he had told Steve he was certain there were still going to be flashbacks that caught him off guard and nightmares that had him screaming in the night, there hadn’t been a single one since he had come back home. Whatever seemed to have started to grow after that strange night, when Bucky had gone out for a walk after drinking a cup of peppermint tea had taken root and was blooming, reaching not so much for the sun, but maybe the moon instead. And while Steve trusted Bucky and believed him when he promised to never leave again, he was the one who was now finding it difficult to let go of his fear.

 

He had a hard time leaving the house for any extended period of time, always rushing up the steps and through the door when he returned, needing to make sure that Bucky hadn’t left during his absence. He was nervous if he couldn’t see Bucky, didn’t know what room he was in. And he would always wake, knowing somehow if Bucky had gotten up to use the bathroom or go grab himself a snack in the middle of the night, no matter how silent his steps were. He couldn’t go back to sleep unless he heard Bucky’s door closing, and if he didn’t, he had to leave his own bedroom so that he could find Bucky to see for himself that he was still there.

 

But Bucky had always known how to watch out for and protect Steve. And if there was one thing he understood, especially after all he had been through, it was fear. He was calm and steady and patient, in a way he had not been since before wars and HYDRA had ripped them apart. But it was different now than it had been. _He_ was different now, more centered, more stable, easier in his skin, in a way that Steve had never seen before.

 

Even the way he moved had changed. His steps were still silent, still perfectly balanced. However where before it had all been absolute precision and deadly grace, there was now a fluidity to his movements, a litheness to his carriage that was captivating. It wasn’t the overly confident swagger of his youth; he was still cautious, had travelled too hard a road to ever be that cocksure again. Instead it was an easy-going stride of confidence and self-awareness. Always aware of every single detail around him, even the slightest change, but more assured and self-contained than previously. He laughed and smiled more, but never took anything for granted.

 

Especially not Steve. He didn’t coddle or try to overwhelm Steve when he noticed he was struggling, but remained steadfast and true, a presence that could appear deceptively easy-going, but with a core of steel at his center stronger than any vibranium shield could ever be. Taking Steve out on runs when Steve was the one who could not settle. Dragging Steve to a new restaurant when he burst through the door after a day with his teammates, calling out Bucky’s name to make sure he was still there. Climbing into his bed at night and urging Steve to lie on his side so that he could rub circles in between his shoulders after a nightmare so that Steve could fall back to sleep. Teasing him, challenging him, and of course, of course, giving Steve enough shit to last a thousand lifetimes, until sometimes Steve could barely stand he was laughing so hard. Steve’s best friend, his soulmate, and always and forever Steve’s miracle, brought back from the dead.

 

Eventually Steve had settled and now felt more himself than he had in a long, long time. They went back to working on the house, turning their attention to completing Steve’s studio while they debated what to do with the third bedroom on the floor. Bucky thought they should convert it into an office, turning the second floor into Steve’s space, where he could work from home when he didn’t feel like going to the Avengers Tower, and then head into his studio after a rough and frustrating day of tracking down leads. Steve wanted to use the room as a guest bedroom, in case they had any visitors who wanted to spend the night. Bucky just rolled his eyes at that suggestion, and told Steve to go back to trying to finally make up his mind about what color he wanted to paint the damned walls.

 

“Company might be nice every once in a while Buck,” Steve had argued (playfully).

 

“You gotta feed company Steve. And I’ve seen the people you hang out with. They look like they eat a lot. I ain’t sharing my pork buns,” Bucky had countered (dead seriously).

 

“Oh please. Like Mr. Yuen will give those pork buns to anyone but you. That man still hates me for some reason.”

 

“That’s because you keep insulting his cow Steve.”

 

“I never insulted his cow!”

 

“Are you sure about that?”

 

“He doesn’t even have a cow, Bucky!”

 

“Rainbow Moon is lovely, and it’s not nice of you to keep insulting her that way Stevie.”

 

“Wait? Who the hell is Rainbow Moon?”

 

“No wonder Mr. Yuen doesn’t like you.”

 

“You’re an asshole, Bucky.”

 

“And you’re a dumbass. Now toss me that scraper.”

 

Three weeks. It had been three-struggle filled and glorious weeks. But they were back to where they had been, even better than how they had been before.

 

Until Bucky had looked at him, and asked the one question that Steve never wanted to answer.

 

***

 

_What were we to each other Steve?_

 

And then, when Steve had deflected, had tried to avoid answering…

 

_Were we ever more than that?_

 

The air was heavy and thick between them, as potent as a thunderstorm as Steve stared at Bucky, and Bucky stared right back.

 

“Why are you asking?” Steve was finally able to say, needing to swallow at least three times before he could speak.

 

“Why aren’t you answering me?” Bucky responded from where he knelt on the floor, perfectly still in the eye of the storm he had called down around them.

 

“Um…” Steve faltered, not knowing what to say or how to answer the questions he was being asked. Bucky’s eyes narrowed and he continued to stare at Steve, until it seemed he was struck by a thought and jerked back slightly.

 

“Did I do something to you?” he asked, a quiver in his voice when there hadn’t been one before. “Something you didn’t want me to?” He looked horrified.

 

“ _What?_ No Bucky, no. You didn’t, you never would. Don’t ever think that.” Steve was quick to reassure, wanting to stop whatever direction Bucky’s thoughts had turned to.

 

Bucky’s expression changed, shifting first to relief and then back to the intense scrutiny from before, until he finally asked, “Then why won’t you answer the question?”

 

Steve sighed, knowing there was no escape, no way he could back out of answering Bucky without making things worse. But then again, the truth could be just as bad, destroying everything between them that they had just managed to rebuild.

 

But it was time. Bucky had asked, and Steve had sworn to him, back at the beginning when Bucky had first taken him to get pork buns, that he would always answer him honestly whenever Bucky had a question about something from their past.

 

He owed it to him, no matter how terrified Steve was of revealing that truth, and of Bucky’s response to his answer.

 

He glanced down at the sanding pad in his hand, sighed again, and then knelt forward, turning his attention back to the area he had been working on before.

 

“We um, we had one night together. Right before you shipped out. We were in bed, like we always were, trying to keep warm, and you, um, you, and then we, we, um, yeah. You said wanted a reason to come back home, and I said yes, and, so, yeah.” The words, the way he stumbled and faltered and couldn’t string them together, were such a failure. But no matter what he said or how he said it, Steve knew that there would never be the right words for what to Steve was one of the most beautiful and sacred moments of his life. His body, scrawny, sickly and so often helpless, even against itself, being held and treated as something precious, something beloved, by the one person who had always loved him, always treated him as someone beautiful and sacred, that Steve had loved, still loved, with all of his heart.

 

Steve shook his head at the futility of trying to describe something that still left him quivering and weak, but burning like the fires of a phoenix, leaving only ashes in its wake, waiting to be reborn. He kept his eyes on the floor, and began to rub the sanding pad in small, steady circles, its _scrapescrapescrape_ over the wooden flooring not soothing in the least.

 

“And then the next day, you shipped out and were gone, and we didn’t see each other again for over a year.” Across from him, Bucky had gone silent and still. When Steve was finally brave enough to risk a glance in his direction, Bucky was kneeling where he had been, but his eyes were lowered, flickering back and forth the way they always did when Bucky was reaching for a memory, trying to grasp something from his past. It didn’t last long, less than thirty seconds in all actuality, before Bucky blinked, long and slow, pulling back slightly with a small shake of his head.

 

“Oh,” was all he said. And then he leaned forward and went back to working on his section of the floor, as if their entire conversation hadn’t just happened.

 

“Oh?” Steve asked when he couldn’t take the silence any longer. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

 

“Yeah Stevie,” Bucky said in that tone that was so recognizable to Steve, that told him that no matter what Bucky was saying, what he really meant was _dumbass_. “Oh.”

 

“Um, okay then.”

 

Bucky kept working on the floor, and Steve, having no other options, decided to do the same. Whenever Steve dared to glance in his direction, Bucky was as he had been before, focused on his task, his body relaxed, his movements even and smooth. If he was upset by what he had learned, he wasn’t showing it, and he wasn’t evidencing any of the tells Steve had come to know. He just happily continued working on the floor, either oblivious or ignoring the way Steve could barely breathe or how his body was clenched so tight he thought he would snap. Or how desperate, so desperate, he was for something, anything, that would give him a single goddamned clue as to what was going on in Bucky’s mind.

 

It lasted for about twenty minutes, before Bucky sat back with a sigh, and stretched his arms above his head, his back cracking with the movement.

 

“I’m going to go make a sandwich for lunch,” he announced. “You hungry? Want me to make you one as well?”

 

“Um, sure. That actually sounds pretty good right now,” Steve lied. Steve didn’t think he would ever be able to eat again.

 

“’Kay. Be back in a few,” Bucky said, rising to his feet and striding out the door without looking back.

 

Steve watched him leave, his eyes running over the back of Bucky’s broad shoulders, the strong lines of his torso, and finally to his long lean legs, realizing that no matter what happened, he was fucked. So very, very fucked.

 

 _Sam_ , Steve thought as he went back to sanding the floor with a new and furious intensity. It’d been a while since he’d seen Sam. It was probably time for Steve to pay him a visit in DC. A whole week-end maybe, so they could catch up, watch a game together, and Steve could forget this entire conversation had ever happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, any comments are always appreciated. Please come by and say hi. I promise I don't bite. **wink**


	3. Reawakenings

 So.

 

_So._

 

Apparently, he and Steve had not just been friends or brothers in their past life together, but even more than that. For only one night, if what Stevie said was true.

 

Bucky sighed and leaned back against the wall of the entryway to the stairwell on the roof, lifting his cigarette to his lips and inhaling deeply. He used to come up here, he remembered, away from Stevie so that the smoke wouldn’t bother his lungs, when the summer days had been too hot, too oppressive, and he needed some air. Or some time to himself, wrapped in a quiet that was never really quiet in New York City, so that he could think. It had helped to clear his mind back then, and it helped him now, even if the cigarette did nothing for his body anymore. More than anything, it gave his hands something to do, his fingers something to play with. Although if he were honest, he preferred flipping his Zippo open and closed more than anything else.

 

He had started doing it again since he had come back this last time. Heading up when Steve was out visiting his teammates, sometimes late at night after Steve had gone to sleep, to breathe in the air and look at the stars. He would always have to head back down and wash both himself and his clothes before Steve either came back or woke up. But it had been a comfort then and it was a comfort now. A safe space, almost as familiar to him as Stevie.

 

Except, apparently he and Steve had been a lot more familiar to each other than he had originally realized. And so many things about himself, about his life, and the paths he had taken made so much more sense.

 

Because he knew, _he knew,_ and he remembered now exactly what Stevie had been to him.

 

_Everything._

 

Steve had been his everything.

 

A golden boy with a golden soul, whose fires had only burned brighter and hotter as he got older. A troublemaker with a heart truer than any the world had ever seen (even as a seven-year-old boy, Bucky had somehow been able to recognize that), and the first to call out an injustice when he saw it and stand up to any bully, even when he was the one who had been bullied most of all. A fighter, a warrior, a knight in the truest sense, who had to battle not only against the world, but his own body as well, as it struck back at him again and again, leaving him weak and sometimes bedridden for days.

 

Bucky never had to question why Stevie had been sick so often. It made sense to him. A soul that bright, a heart that fierce, was too much for any-body to take, no construct of flesh, blood and bone strong enough to contain all that had been laid within. But it still needed care, and it still needed protection. So Bucky had done what he could, protecting Steve from the world (and it was small, so small now, these Brooklyn streets that had helped raise them, that had seemed so huge to them then, but wasn’t very much, not really, once they had both stepped out into the world), and helping to look after his body when Steve’s lungs, his heart, his hearing, and his small, thin frame had all decided he was too much for even them to handle.

 

But Steve, Steve had been even more surprising than that. He was smart and funny, with a quick, brilliant mind and a sharp sense of humor. And a loyalty that ran deep; deeper than blood, deeper than bones, deeper than the grave. He had easily accepted Bucky into his life, hungering for a friend of his own in a way that even Bucky’s seven-year-old mind could understand, while always insisting on pulling his own weight, being his own self, and never letting anyone, not even Bucky, overpower him with their will.

 

Bucky had learned very quickly to respect that about him.

 

But the rewards for that respect had been endless, and the two of them were practically inseparable in their youth.

 

And Bucky had loved him.

 

Loved him with the innocence of a seven-year-old’s heart, and then the burning confusion of a fifteen year old’s.

 

Because all of a sudden, one day he had looked at Steve, and found himself wanting, in a way that he didn’t understand but the world around him had told him was wrong, wrong, _wrong_.

 

He liked girls, had always liked girls. Tammy Walsh had let him feel her breasts behind her building after the tenth time he had walked her home from school. They had been warm and full in his hands, soft and alluring, and he had wanted to hold them forever. After he had taken Kimmie Lynch to a movie and then an egg cream, which he had saved his money for over two weeks, they had curled around each other in a shadowed corner of a park. Her curly red hair had tickled his neck as he slid his hands beneath her skirt and into the warm, wet heat in between her legs. Her quivering, quiet gasps and the way her body had tightened when he pressed his fingers into her had left him throbbing and hard. And the slipperiness when he pulled his hand back, hot and slick, had fascinated him, made him curious to discover more of what her body could do. And he had begun to understand want and desire and need.

 

But when he looked at Stevie, at his gold spun hair, storm colored eyes, and long, thin hands, whose delicate fingers could rip angels from the air and trap them on paper, he _burned_. From within, from without, in his bones and his blood, and in between his legs. A never-ending fire he had not felt with any girl, and something that confused the hell out of him. Because he wanted, he wanted, but in so many ways and none of them making any sense. To touch and lick and taste. To rub his body against Steve’s thin one, until both of their skins melted away and there was nothing but the two of them. To see if he could make Stevie gasp, the way he had made Kimmie gasp, and if when he reached between Stevie’s legs, he would shiver just as soft and sweet. But also, to rest his chin on Stevie’s shoulder, hold his hand, run his fingers through his hair, and lie against him in the night. To make sure that he was always there so that Steve was never alone when his asthma struck, and to have enough money so they would never have to worry about not being able to afford Steve’s medicine. A dance, a breakfast in bed, to see Stevie smile in that way that was Bucky’s and Bucky’s alone, for the rest of his life. All of these things he had wanted, but not understood, only knowing that it would never be allowed.

 

So he buried it all, buried it deep within, making sure to never let Steve see his feelings that he was certain were obvious to anyone who really looked, and learned to do the one thing he had never done before; lie to Stevie.

 

The first lie of many, but the biggest one he had ever told.

 

But then Pearl Harbor had been bombed, and Bucky knew that for the first time in his life, he would have to separate himself from Stevie, in order to make sure that the world was safe, that Stevie was safe, from any evils that could cause him harm.

 

Stevie hadn’t even protested. Bucky wasn’t sure why that had surprised him, when Steve was always the first one to want to fight an injustice, strike a bully down before he could do more harm. The only thing he seemed upset about was the fact that he would not be able join Bucky on the frontlines. For the first time in his life, (another first), Bucky had been grateful for Steve’s weak lungs, bum ears, and skinny, short stature. Because Bucky knew. He had gone in, proud to serve his country, knowing it was a good fight, and one that needed to be fought. But he had also spent time with his father, who had not spoken much of his service in the Great War, only saying that a man saw horrible things as a soldier, that war changed him in ways someone who had not been would never be able to understand, and oh, how grateful he had been to Bucky’s mother. Knowing that she was there at home, waiting for him, gave him a reason to fight one last fight, and take one more step, always one more step, until he could finally come back to her. _‘There’s nothing like knowing the love of your life is waiting for you, Bucky my boy, to make you fight even harder to come back home.’_

 

Well then, Bucky’s father had had his mother. Bucky would have Stevie.

 

But after his basic training, when he returned to Brooklyn for a week of leave before being shipped off to England, Bucky had looked at Stevie, at his furious and brave face, and simply thought _fuck it_. It didn’t matter if it meant that Bucky’s soul was going to hell. He already knew that war was hell. If he was going to get sent there anyway, willingly and by his own choice, he should at least have a reason for being there.

 

So, he had crawled into bed with Stevie, pulling that thin, fragile body, with its tiger’s heart, into his arms, and asked, softer, sweeter, more gently than he had ever asked anyone before, if he could have just one, small taste. A tiny sip to wet his lips, and ease the flames that had been scorching his soul ever since he had been fifteen, seven, maybe even younger than that, years old.

 

And Stevie, his Stevie, always his Stevie, had agreed.

 

His body had been small but taught in Bucky’s arms, his skin soft, the muscles beneath slight, lean, nothing that any man would ever proudly lay claim to, yet whipcord strong and tight beneath Bucky’s fingertips. He had shivered, just a bit at first, before something in him had shifted, and he had let go, giving himself over to Bucky’s hands.

 

But Stevie had never been passive, not once, not ever in his life, and he hadn’t been then. He had moaned and gasped, arched his neck and pressed his head back against Bucky’s shoulder, begging, demanding, crying out for more. And Bucky, knowing that this was probably the first time Stevie had ever been touched like this (unless he too had been keeping secrets of his own), gave him everything he asked for. He ran his hands over Stevie’s beautiful, beautiful body, kissing his neck, his shoulders, breathing in deep the scents of his hair and sweat as he used his fingers to explore and cradle and please, while in between his legs his dick ached and burned and throbbed as it thrust itself against the slight swell of Stevie’s ass.

 

At that time, Bucky believed he would never have forgotten that night. The way Stevie’s own fingers had dug into his forearms, leaving sharp little crescent marks that had taken days to fade. Or the breathless whisper of his voice as he called Bucky’s name. How his eyes had closed, their storms of blue and grey hidden from Bucky’s gaze as Stevie was overwhelmed by his own storms of pleasure and came in Bucky’s hand. And then the taste, _the taste of him._ Thick and hot, bitter and salty on Bucky’s tongue as he licked Stevie’s spend from his own fingers. Nothing better or sweeter in the world, Bucky had thought, until he had taken one last chance, reached for one more thing, just one last little bit of starlight when Stevie had already given him so much, and pressed his lips to Stevie’s for the first and last time.

 

Nothing in his life had ever been that wonderful, that wanted, that welcome. And Bucky knew, as he turned his back and walked away from the one thing in his life that he had always treasured above all else, that he would never forget the taste of Stevie’s kiss for as long as he lived.

 

Except, apparently, he had.

 

It seemed he had forgotten a lot of things, things that HYDRA had stolen, ripped from his hands, his mind, his very soul, that had been important and vital to who he once was. Memories that were still coming back to him now that he was one who was no longer two.

 

Maybe it was because he had returned and finally decided to stay. That this place, this house, for good or ill, was his home, and there was a strength that came from accepting that. Or maybe it was because the Asset and who he had been were no longer separate, and did not have to divide their resources, but instead could share them, the whole being far, far greater than the sum of his parts. Or perhaps it was because of the pain he had seen Stevie in upon his return, caused by him and still stirring ripples in this man who Bucky had always made his life’s mission to protect and care for, and knowing that without all of the pieces of himself, he would not be able to do it. And for Bucky that simply could not be borne.

 

Or maybe, just maybe, two and a half years after that battle in DC and his escape into the world, it was finally, finally time.

 

Suddenly there was more to remember, more changes to himself, and more colors than he had ever imagined possible suddenly filling up the sketch lines of who he was.

 

Because he remembered even more than that last night with Steve; more about the war, and more about who he had been.

 

The war had been brutal. Bucky had not been as surprised as some of the other greenies, having listened and listened well to his father’s stories. But something about this war was different. Bucky had always been good at keeping his ear to ground, putting together his own network of contacts and resources. It allowed him to ferret out information long before anyone else knew there were things they needed to pay attention to. But even his commanding officers, all of the generals and majors in charge, were worried. Bucky overheard them as they whispered how there were things in this war they had never seen before. Weapons unlike any others ever encountered. Prisoners who had been captured that murmured of inhumane experiments at hidden laboratories led by madmen who always seemed to be searching for something, but were never happy with whatever it was they found. It made for difficult days and nightmare filled nights, broken up by one harrowing battle after another.

 

But Bucky was a soldier now, they were all soldiers now, and they found their ways to cope.

 

There had been women. Lots and lots of women. Bucky didn’t have a girl at every port, so much as a nurse at every base, and in one case after a memorable night, even two. He treated them well, treated all of them well, and in exchange they gave him the softness of their bodies and the warmth of their embraces. But also; extra rations, medical supplies, and most importantly of all, gossip.

 

But there had not been only women.

 

Europe was a very different place from America, from Brooklyn, especially a Europe trapped in the ravages of war. And there were not always women – those steel blades wrapped in velvet that all of the women who had volunteered to serve were - to seek company from. The nights were hard, cold and lonely, and when you knew, were absolutely certain that the next battle, the next day was going to be your last, sometimes a pair of warm arms, no matter what gender they belonged to, were the only thing that kept you from swallowing your own gun.

 

It was there Bucky discovered that while he may have been corrupted and filled with sin for wanting Stevie as he had, he was not the only one who found comfort in the arms of another man. Nor, as the first few weeks turned into months and there had been no word, no letters from Stevie, was Steve the only man who had caught Bucky’s eye.

 

There was a way to it, a careful and very delicate dance. Because it was more than just frowned upon, and if you were discovered, the punishment was brutal and severe. But if you learned the right codes, where and how to ask the subtlest of questions, there were places you could go and others you could meet, who just like him wanted to feel bristle against their cheeks and strong shoulders beneath their hands. And Bucky had always been a quick learner.

 

At the bases and newly freed villages, the troops were often mixed. American, British, French and Canadian soldiers came together to celebrate their victories, while those in command plotted and planned the next courses of action. It was in these places Bucky learned there were others just like him. And he could admit to it then, in this company that was careful and stealthy, that it had not just always been women or Stevie who had caught his eye. Paulie, who had worked in Barelli’s grocer, and the way his shoulders had flexed and heaved as he lifted box after box of produce into the store while he and Stevie walked by. Victor, who had worked with Bucky’s father, and his curly blond hair. Geoffrey at the bank, with his gold-rimmed glasses and sharp suits. All of them noticed, catalogued, most times found to be wanting, sometimes making something that felt like butterflies flutter in his stomach. It hadn’t been just Stevie. But Stevie had been the one against which all the others had been contrasted, compared and weighed against, and of course, of course, found lacking.

 

But Stevie wasn’t there now, and Bucky was alone and cold and lonely.

 

So, Bucky learned the code words, and realized things about himself that he was sure Uncle Sam had never intended when he had proclaimed _I Want You_.

 

And discovered that he liked to wrap his arms around a broad set of shoulders and press his body against theirs, not feeling the softness of breasts and the curve of hips beneath his hands, but a chest as hard as his own, and thin hips when they danced together. Perfume was sweet and alluring, but so was a man’s musk when another temple brushed against his own. Men’s lips could be just as plump, just as soft as a woman’s, but when combined with the bristle of stubble there was another level, a different level of enticement that called out to his groin.

 

Or how it felt to look down and see a man on his knees in front of him, between his spread legs, greedily slurping at his cock. And how, when it was his turn, he wasn’t ashamed or humiliated, but excited and eager to explore, feeling both powerful and in control, knowing it was him who got to decide how long it lasted and when it was over. It was amazing to lie with a woman and watch as her breasts jiggled as he thrust himself inside of her again and again. But somehow it was also just as amazing, just as fascinating, to have a man in front of him on his hands and knees, either clasping their shoulders or dragging his nails down a long, lean and muscular back while he stared at his own cock sliding in and out of their body.

 

“It is not as unheard of as you Americans always make it out to be,” Lionel had told him, after a stolen hour together as they shared a cigarette before each of them had to report in to their commanding officers. He had been French, with curly red hair and freckles on his shoulders that Bucky had licked. They had been together before, and if they were both at the same base, they always found a way to spend some time together. Discretely of course, yet they were friends of a sort. Lionel also had someone at home, an Yves that he missed and yearned for while he served. But they were comfortable together, Lionel as easy-going as Bucky in his own way, and he had been a very patient teacher. “We will all go back and find wives and have children, of course. But some of us have always preferred the company of men. And it is not such a bad thing, just a thing that is, that everyone knows but no one wants to talk about.”

 

“If you say so,” Bucky laughed. It had been a rough couple of weeks, filled with long marches, icy trenches, and a lack of rations that had left his stomach aching as it tried to feed itself on its own acid. But he was warm now, and still filled with the wonderful afterglow of his orgasm, and would probably have agreed to anything at that point.

 

“I do,” Lionel said as he took one last puff of their shared cigarette before he put it out. “Now give me a kiss Sergeant. We both need to get back. I will see you next time.”

 

Bucky did give him a kiss, but he never saw Lionel again. Bucky had heard from a French fellow sergeant, Maurice, that his troop had been captured by the Nazis, and shipped off to somewhere in Italy, where they were never seen or heard from again. Bucky wondered if anyone had told Yves, or if he was still waiting for his childhood best friend to come back home.

 

But not for long, because then under Captain Williams’ leadership, it was their turn to head to Italy, their turn to discover the true horrors and the real enemy they had been fighting during this war.

 

It had been hell, torture and brutality; things being done to his body that made it seize and shiver, ripping through his flesh like razorblades of fire. The one thought he had clung to, the only thought that kept him alive, kept him sane, was the knowledge that Stevie was home, Stevie was safe, and he would never know the true horror and madness that was this war.

 

Until all of a sudden, Stevie was there, undoing the straps and helping him from the gurney that he had been strapped to for - was it days, weeks, months?  – and hauling him to his feet, pulling Bucky’s arm around his shoulder, and carrying him from the slice of hell that Bucky was certain had been his punishment for all he had done.

 

It was Stevie, but it wasn’t. It was his eyes, his hair, his voice. But everything, _everything else_ was different from what Bucky remembered. He was tall, with a huge, broad chest. There were muscles on top of muscles beneath Bucky’s arm when Steve draped it over his own shoulder to lift Bucky from the bed he had been tied to. ( _Muscles where Bucky remembered the sharp jut of shoulder blades, that he had run his lips over and kissed, because they were wings, Stevie’s wings, and he had loved them._ ) As he pulled Bucky to his feet, supporting him as if Bucky weighed no more than a babe, Bucky recalled that he had been the one who used to reach out and carry Steve’s book bag when Steve’s asthma had decided breathing was too easy of a thing for Steve to do, tightening his lungs with what Steve had always sworn must have been spite.

 

Those weren’t the only differences.

 

After that battle, once Schmidt had revealed himself as Red Skull and taken that bastard Zola with him, they had returned to Colonel Philips (and no one had noticed, had thought to notice how Bucky, after everything he had been through, and all of the weeks and weeks of starvation, torture and fire scalding through his veins, had just been able to walk back to base as if nothing had happened), and there was a woman there. A woman waiting for Steve with a fire of her own in her eyes, and Steve, his Stevie, was smiling back at her in a way that Bucky had never seen before, when Bucky had always been the only who one Steve ever smiled honestly for.

 

Looking at the two of them, Bucky suddenly understood.

 

Because Stevie had always been Bucky’s only choice. There had been other friends, other people in his life, but none that Bucky would have ever, _ever_ chosen over Stevie.

 

Bucky had also been Stevie’s only choice. But that was because Stevie had never had any other options. There was no one out there who had watched and studied and seen the truth, the breathtaking glow that had been Stevie’s soul, except for Bucky. Now that he had a body that finally matched his heart, was strong enough for this spirit that had always been the strongest and truest of any Bucky had ever encountered, other people could now see what Bucky had always known. And they wanted to be a part of that, wanted that in their lives. And Stevie, who had always been mocked and teased and shoved aside, when he was not being ignored, was going to have more choices than he ever had. Stevie deserved it, he had always deserved it, and Bucky understood that this was his punishment, the price he had to pay for what he had taken. So he had moved to the side, taken a step back, and let Stevie go.

 

And this woman, this Margaret Carter, Peggy, she seemed to be all right. A gorgeous dame, with her long, curly dark red hair, svelte figure, and a determination as fierce and undeniable as Steve’s had always been. At least she appeared to be able to look beyond the new height and all of the muscles and inhuman strength to see the core of Steve’s heart, its ambition and goals resonating with her own. And Steve absolutely adored her, of course he did. Steve had always loved women, even if they hadn’t felt the same way toward him. That last night before his deployment, Bucky had needed, had asked, and Steve, out of some sense of loyalty, some undeserved devotion, had acquiesced, given Bucky what he wanted as a parting gift to a good friend going off to war. But seeing the way his entire face lit up and beamed like a lighthouse whenever Peggy entered a room, his eyes tracking her every movement, Bucky felt ashamed for ever asking. And Peggy, she took no bullshit from anyone, and was as tough and strong a fighter as any Bucky had ever seen, in skirts and heels none-the-less. She could just as easily toss back anything you threw at her, usually while walking over your back as you lay in defeat on the floor. So maybe, just maybe, she was good enough for Steve (although really, in Bucky’s opinion, no one was).

 

Not that it would have mattered. Bucky barely had any attention to spare for the way the two of them danced around each other, a tango with just as many complicated steps, but always resulting with one in the other’s arms. Because something was going on, something was wrong with Bucky’s body, and it was tearing him apart.

 

It itched and burned and hurt all the time. His own bones felt as if they were bubbling beneath his skin, their heat boiling his muscles. He ached and was constantly hungry, and found himself shivering in his bedroll, even on nights when it wasn’t cold. There was something new, something alive that had made itself a home in Bucky’s flesh, and nothing he did, drank or smoked would make it go away. Cigarettes didn’t calm him down the way they previously had, and no amount of hooch would ease the sudden hyper-awareness of his senses. He could see things in the dark, even during nights with a new moon when the forests they had camped down in were pitch black. He could sense the slightest change in the environment, a shift in the wind, or a drop of even a single degree, that pounded on his nerves instead of providing any relief. And he could hear the faintest rustle of the leaves, the softest whispers from across a base that no human should have been able to detect. His body had become an endless stream of contradictions that didn’t belong to him, but didn’t know what to do with.

 

Because along with the pain, the aches, the twitching that never seemed to stop, and the hunger, the endless, endless hunger, there were also things he could do that he never had been able to before. He could sit in a perfect stillness for hours at a time at Steve’s command, waiting for a target, and once the shot had been taken and his mission complete, rise from his silent crouch without a single twinge or complaint from his muscles. There had been debilitating wounds, killing wounds, that should have at least caused enough damage to have him pulled from active duty. But once everyone else had been seen and tended to, and Steve had made his report back to command, when Bucky finally looked at his injuries, what had been a jagged knife wound to his side, or a bullet wound to his thigh was nothing more than a healing scab.

 

Then there had been a time, not too long before his last mission as a Howling Commando, when he and Morita had gone ahead, scouting for a safe point of observation. The mountainous pass had been icy and steep, and Morita had taken a misstep and slipped, nearly falling off the cliff they were perched on to what would have been his death. Bucky had reached out, lightning fast, and grabbed his arm. Instead being dragged down along with Morita, he simply pulled and lifted him back onto the cliff’s edge, as easily as picking up a toddler. Morita had stared at him for a long time, his eyes uncertain, before he shook it off, muttered a “Thanks, Sarge,” and then turned back to the trail they had been following.

 

A million tiny things that should not have been possible, and no one noticed. Bucky had made sure that they hadn’t. Steve might have, was probably the only one who would have been able to see through Bucky’s lies, but this was a war that had to be won, no matter what cost, and his attention was needed elsewhere. Bucky always agreed, using encouragement as a shield of his own, then chiding Steve about Peggy, making sure to turn Steve’s attention toward her whenever they had any down time. That allowed Bucky to sit, pretend to smoke, pretend to get drunk, and then, once the worst of the shaking had stopped, charm his way to extra medical supplies and food rations, his mind racing and his body trying to burn him from the inside out.

 

It had worked. The Howlies thought he was the best Sergeant any of them had ever had. Steve got to spend his free time with Peggy, discovering all of the joys that apparently came with his new, super body. Unfortunately, Bucky now couldn’t help but overhear Steve and Peggy whenever he was anywhere near the two of them if they weren’t out in the field and had a safe shelter with separate rooms for the night.

 

It was better that way, easier, safer for the both of them. The smarter choice for Steve, and it allowed Bucky to keep one more secret, on top of the hundreds and thousands he was already keeping from everyone else.

 

That that part of him, his body, no longer worked. A big part of him, of who he had been, gone. It just laid there, heavy, cold between his legs, and no amount of stroking, or looking at dirty pictures or even listening to the desperate, breathy moans and creaking bedsprings coming from Steve’s room across the hall, had any effect on it at all.

 

Dead.

 

Another punishment perhaps, for his sin. Or for surviving when so many of his comrades hadn’t. Functional enough to take a piss, but useless for anything else. One more change to his body, something else taken away, and for the first time in his life, he had no one to turn to ( _Stevie_ ) and was all alone with his loss.

 

There had been a night, not too long before the end, when the Howlies had once again been victorious, this time in a battle no one thought they would have won. But Steve’s brilliant mind and his team’s unmatched determination had gotten them yet another unbelievable victory, and as a reward they were called back to a small but well stocked village in Normandy for a few well-deserved days of rest before new orders came in. Peggy had been waiting for them on their return, and she had smiled her brilliant, captivating smile at Steve, and then led him to the hotel the commanding officers had commandeered for their base of operations. Seeing as he was their Captain, and Peggy an Agent, that’s where Steve and Peggy would be sleeping, ostensibly in separate rooms. The rest of the Howlies had been assigned nice enough beds in a much smaller hotel, but seeing the exhaustion on their faces, Bucky made an executive decision. Deciding they needed a night of celebration of their own, he took them to a building with a red door. Inside there was a whorehouse whose employees, Bucky knew from conversations with Lionel, would treat all of them well.

 

After letting the rest of the Howlies laugh and drink and make their selections for the evening, Bucky ended up following a woman named Claudine to her room. She was beautiful, her curvaceous body barely hidden beneath the satin green dressing gown she wore, with emerald eyes and thick, raven curls that spilled over her shoulders and down past her waist. Bucky had looked at her, looked and looked and looked and looked, and felt absolutely nothing. But he was exhausted from their last mission, and it appeared as if Steve was finally beginning to sense that something may have been wrong, so Bucky needed a ruse.

 

Once behind the closed door of her room, small but clean and with a soft looking bed, Bucky took one more look at Claudine ( _nothing, nothing, nothing)_ and then sighed before he asked, “How much for the entire night?”

 

She studied him for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly, before she said, “Fifty francs for the whole night, anything you want, paid up front,” and held out her hand. It was a lot of money, but Bucky readily handed it over. While she took the bills and went to the door, cracking it open to speak to the man outside (Bucky had known he was there, could hear his quiet footsteps prowling back and forth in the hallway as easily as he would have heard a jazz band outside the window) Bucky sat on her bed, untied and removed his boots and lay down.

 

“So,” Claudine purred once the money had been given over, back to the tricks of her trade. “What would you like me to do for you tonight, hmm?”

 

“Nothing,” Bucky muttered from the surprisingly clean bed, his head resting on a soft pillow that smelled faintly of lavender. “Just let me sleep.”

 

“Nothing?” She was obviously confused by his response, staring at him for another moment before narrowing her eyes again. “Are you certain? You have paid a lot of money for my time, and I am very good at my trade.”

 

“Nothing,” Bucky said again, closing his eyes.

 

“I see.” There was a tone to her voice that made Bucky open his eyes to glance at her. She was still staring at him, but before where there had been a forced coquettishness now there was something compassionate and gentle, soft where nothing in his life had been for far too long. “All right then Sergeant. You just close your eyes and rest there for now. Give me a moment, I’ll return shortly.” She turned and left the room, returning a few minutes later with two steaming plates of food and a bottle of wine, which she carefully placed on the bedside table. Bucky could smell fresh  bread, chicken and vegetables, rich and savory, laced with an earthy spiciness, and unlike anything he’d had in far too long.

 

“Here,” she said, reaching out to help Bucky sit up before she placed the plate in his hands. “For you.” She was kind, so kind, and Bucky had been nearly overwhelmed by her gentle compassion, even as his stomach growled.

 

“Thank you,” he whispered, taking the fork she held out to him.

 

“No need to thank me Sergeant.” She poured him a glass of wine and placed it on the table next to the other plate. “You have paid me very well for a night off. Now eat. You look far too hungry.”

 

Bucky devoured the food, drank most of the wine, and then crawled back into Claudine’s bed, while she sat herself in a chair in the corner, put her feet up on a nearby ottoman, and settled in for the night with a book on her lap. Bucky fell asleep to the sound of her turning the pages, the best night of sleep he’d had in over a year, and the last one he would have for nearly the next seventy-five.

 

When he woke the following morning, just as the dawn’s light was creeping through the window, Claudine was still in her chair, but there was another plate of food by the bedside, soft cheese, still warm bread, and a cup of coffee. After Bucky had eaten everything, and washed his face and hands in the basin by the bed, Claudine stepped forward and placed her hands on his shoulders.

 

“Come here,” she said, rising to her toes and pulling him forward. Bucky leaned in and was surprised as she sunk her teeth into his neck, biting hard before she let him go and stepped back. Bucky stared at her in shock, his hand at his throat, but Claudine only smiled.

 

“You are not the only man who has come here wanting nothing else but a quiet night in a bed that smells like a woman instead of war,” she explained. “But now, when you go downstairs, your men will all see that mark on your neck and think you spent the entire time making me scream. But we will be the only ones who know that we both enjoyed ourselves even more than that.”

 

“Thank you,” Bucky told her again, grateful, so damned grateful for her kindness. He lifted her hand to his lips, where he placed a single kiss, before he slid his remaining money into her palm, and then turned and left the room.

 

“Be safe soldier,” she had called to his retreating back. “The winter is coming. Try to keep warm and remember that you are more than welcome to come visit me again anytime.”

 

The Howlies had all catcalled and slapped his back when he joined them outside, congratulating him on a night well spent. And when Steve had seen him, his eyes quickly darting to the red lipstick and bruise on Bucky’s throat, he had arched an eyebrow and merely asked, “Good night Buck?”

 

“I’d love to tell you all about it Steve.” Bucky forced himself to remember how to smile a wry and crooked grin. “But a gentleman never kisses and tells. Now, what shithole are they sending us to next?”

 

“Well, since you asked…” Steve matched Bucky’s grin with one of his own, wrapping an arm around his shoulder before he dragged him along, never noticing how Bucky had to fight himself to keep from flinching at the touch.

 

Less than two months later, Bucky had fallen from the train. And all of the suffering and burning and boiling of his own flesh had been nothing, _nothing_ compared to what had come after that.

 

But somehow, he had survived. And his body, that had had every bone in it broken, its left arm ripped off and replaced by a metal mimicry of human flesh, constructed and attached with the sole purpose of killing, and three more rounds of injections of what had felt like the devil’s very own venom before those evil sons of bitches had been satisfied, had finally settled, over seventy five years, into its new baseline.

 

He was stronger, faster, better trained, and more powerful than he had ever been, than almost anyone else on the planet, with the exception of Steve. He even wondered at that sometimes, never wanting to test it, but curious now that he was better fed, well rested and easier in his skin, about what would happen if they ever truly went up against each other with no holds barred. It had been almost two and a half years since he had escaped, and unless HYDRA somehow managed to capture him again (and he knew it was a possibility, could never, ever allow himself to forget that), he thought that this was it. That he was who he was, that he understood his body’s limits, its secrets, and that all of its struggles were finally over.

 

But apparently there were still memories left for him to discover. And his body was in no way done fucking with him.

 

Literally.

 

He had gotten a kick out of teasing Stevie when he had joked about using his left arm to jack off, or being able to make the plates vibrate. It had been more than worth it to see the look on his face. But that part of him, that vibrant, central, joy giving part had not come back. His sex remained leaden and dead, uninterested in any and everything around it. After everything he had been through, everything that had been done to him, if that was the price for his freedom, his sense of self being returned to him, after some careful consideration, Bucky decided that it was more than a fair trade. He could breathe, eat what he wanted, and laugh with Stevie, his best friend who had somehow also managed to survive into the next century, while they worked together on fixing up their home, and that was more than enough. More than he oftentimes was certain he deserved.

 

And then he’d had the first dream. His body and his mind coming together to weave a silken web of blurred images in his mind that left him both warm and disoriented upon waking, unsure of what he’d been shown. It hadn’t been a nightmare, just a strange collection of random images, none of them making any sense. He shook them off and went downstairs to make himself and Stevie some breakfast.

 

Two nights later, he dreamed again, the images clearer this time, pictures of him and Stevie, his own arms wrapped around Steve’s younger, skinnier body, something desperate in him urging him to reach for something he had never had before.

 

He had still been confused, doubtful of what he had seen. He remembered now that he had wanted Steve, had always wanted him, but he wasn’t sure if what he was seeing was a memory of something that actually happened, or a fantasy he used to have, his mind finally surrendering the last pieces of what had once been James Buchanan Barnes. He had still not felt any stirrings of desire, not even a twinge of interest, and he thought that if it was indeed a memory he was being shown, his body would have garnered him with some reaction. But there was nothing, just as there hadn’t been in so long, and if anything was ever going to occur, Bucky thought that after almost a year of living together in such close proximity, something would have happened.

 

He started watching Stevie more closely, paying even keener attention to all of his details, first to make sure that he was all right, that he was recovering from Bucky’s last absence, wanting to be ready, to be able to reassure Stevie whenever he saw him falter. Once Steve finally started to calm down, to believe Bucky’s words when he swore he would never leave again, Bucky kept up his observations, contrasting the Steve he remembered from their earlier years to the Steve from now, and adding to his study a comparison of his and Stevie’s bodies. And Captain Oblivious was still oblivious. Either that or he was simply used to the feeling of Bucky’s eyes on him all of the time and had gotten used to it. It gave Bucky an even greater freedom to study and scrutinize, something new to ponder when his mind needed something to distract itself from the increasing promises and responsibilities of his life.

 

He had been in the shower the first time his body decided to join his mind in its careful pondering. He had been washing his hair, giving his scalp a thorough scrubbing, remembering the way Stevie’s hair had glowed in the late winter sunshine of that morning’s run, soft, golden flickers and ripples as his shorter locks bounced with his movement, when he had felt a twitching, unfamiliar and almost uncomfortable from in between his legs.

 

He reached to scratch himself, expecting to find the usually soft and limp skin that was always there. But instead, instead, when he lowered his hand, his fingers had been met by hot and hard flesh. Confused, he opened his eyes to look down, and saw that part of him that had been dead for so long standing tall and proud, eagerly rising to meet his fingers.

 

He had been so shocked that he yelped, jerked back, slipping to the point where he’d grabbed for the shower curtain, yanking it down from the bar as he fell over the side of the tub and onto his ass on the floor, the soap in his hair now burning his eyes.

 

“ _Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!_ ” he cursed, wiping at his eyes as he struggled with the shower curtain and desperately reached to turn off the water. Once he finally did and the burning in his eyes had stopped, he looked in between his legs again, only to find that his erection had fled along with his dignity.

 

“Oh great, just great,” he muttered to himself as he collapsed back onto the puddle covered bathroom floor, staring up at the now curtain-less shower. He could see the headlines now: _Man Scared to Death by His Own Dick_. He had never been so happy that Steve had been out of the house at his daily visit to the Avengers Tower as he was that day.

 

 _Fuck. My. Life._ he thought, before he rolled to his side, pushing himself up. He suddenly had a shit-ton of things he needed to do before Stevie got home.

 

***

 

“Hey Buck, I’m back,” Steve called out later that afternoon when he finally made it home. “How was your day?”

 

“Fine,” Bucky muttered from where he sat at the kitchen table. It hadn’t been actually. After he spent an hour mopping up the bathroom floor, he then had to dress and drive over to Home Depot to purchase new shower rings and a replacement curtain. Except they hadn’t had the same one that they’d originally purchased, a pale blue with darker blue stripes. Bucky ended up purchasing a white one with black stripes instead. He’d then had to rush home, straighten out the curtain rod, replace the rings and hang the new shower curtain before Steve got home, wondering what the hell was going on with his body, which ached with the bruises on his knees and elbows he had gotten when he fell. Once all of the tasks were completed, he ate his way through an entire tub of brownies, two quarts of butter pecan ice cream, and was now on his fourth cup of peppermint tea. But fuck it, after the day he’d had, he deserved it.

 

“Are you okay?” Steve asked as he entered the kitchen, glancing at the cup of tea in Bucky’s hand. And of course he would notice that, the big, dumb, nosy bastard that he was.

 

“Fine,” Bucky repeated. But goddammit, his knees still fucking hurt.

 

“Are you sure Buck?” Steve asked, modulating his voice so that it was gentler than it had been. He was concerned, worried, and would put everything in his life on hold if Bucky gave even the slightest hint that he needed something from him. He was such a fucking bastard that way. Bucky sighed.

 

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Bucky finally looked up to see Steve staring at him. “Really Stevie. It was just a busy day.” That didn’t even cover half of it, but Bucky was going to take everything that happened today with him to his grave before he breathed a word of it to Steve. “What about you? How was your day?”

 

“It was fine,” Steve said, giving him one last scrutinizing stare before he made his way over to the kitchen cabinets, peering inside. “Hey, what happened to all of the brownies?”

 

***

 

“Buck?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“What happened to the shower curtain?”

 

“I changed it.” _After I pulled it down when I fell out of the shower because I happened to look down and saw my own hard-on for the first time in over seventy-five years,_ Bucky didn’t add.

 

“Um, why?”

 

“Because it was ugly.” _And I am never going back into that shower ever again for the rest of my life._

 

“But you were the one who picked it.”

 

“Yeah well, it was stupid. I got tired of looking at it.”

 

“Are you sure you’re okay Bucky?”

 

“Fine.” He wondered if there were any cookies left, because seriously, he was still hungry, and he could definitely go for some more cookies right now.

 

***

 

Thankfully Captain Oblivious was still oblivious. After Bucky had assured him for the fiftieth time that he was alright, and Bucky had eaten the last of their cookies, as well as half of an entire cheesecake he had gone out specifically for, Steve decided to take him at his word and dropped it. After he finished the remaining half of the cheesecake, _the bastard_.

 

He stayed home the next day, quietly concerned but not saying anything to Bucky about it, simply offering the quiet comfort of his companionship instead. It was kind of him, so Stevie, but it really wasn’t necessary. This was something personal, private, and no matter what ended up happening, Bucky knew it was not something he would ever be able to share with Steve.

 

It seemed like it had been a fluke anyway; a onetime biological anomaly that was unlikely to reoccur. Bucky had poked and prodded at himself, even taking himself into his right hand, but there had been nothing, not a twitch nor a tingle, and barely a recognition of sensation. Bucky sighed, a little heartbroken, but came to the conclusion that as he was no worse off than he had been before it happened, there was nothing he could do, and it was time to get back to the other things in his life.

 

Until three days later.

 

Steve was finally satisfied that nothing was wrong, that Bucky was not lying when he assured Steve he was fine, and had gone back to spend some time with his teammates. They had gone running earlier that morning, but once Steve left, after a late morning snack, Bucky decided to go for another run, so that the rhythm of his movements and the pounding of his feet upon the pavement could help clear his mind and settle any lingering sense of loss he still felt.

 

It was never as fun as running with Steve, who laughed and teased him while they ran, each of them trying to outdo the other, until Bucky usually gave in and let Stevie resume the lead. He liked to watch Stevie run, he admitted to himself as he made his way to his bedroom. He closed the door behind him, pulled off his shirt and removed the two chains he now wore around his neck to hang them on his bedpost. Steve was all power and strong strides, a mastery of movement combined with strength and determination that rippled from his shoulders and down his spine and…

 

Oh. _Hello_.

 

Bucky looked down at the sudden warmth he felt emanating from his lower body, and once again saw his cock standing tall and proud from its base between his legs. This time he didn’t jerk or startle, and there was no tub with its slippery floor for him to slip on. Instead he carefully made his way over to his bed and slowly laid down, staring at the tenting of his track pants, before he cautiously slid them off his hips.

 

There, rising from its nesting of dark curls, was his dick, erect and growing even more so with every second that he stared. He blinked at it once, twice and then a third time, his heart suddenly racing, his pulse rushing through his ears, before he reached down with his right hand and timidly took it into his hold.

 

It was hot and hard against his skin, pulsing with its own heartbeat from within his palm. As he tightened his fingers, ever so slightly, it jerked in response to his touch and grew even harder, a single, clear drop pooling at the very tip. Bucky did it again, increasing his grip and…

 

And…

 

And…

 

Everything in his body suddenly exploded.

 

Because there was heat and warmth and pressure, nerves that had laid dormant for more than three quarters of a century suddenly coming awake, with a vibrant and brutal feedback loop in his brain that was all _want, want, want_ and desperate greedy hunger.

 

There were no more thoughts of Steve or anything else, just an overlay of stunning, shocking pleasure, the joyous physical sensation of his body coming alive. He tightened his grip and began to furiously pump his hand back and forth, over throbbing, heated, aching skin until there was a new wave rising, just as overwhelming as all of the others had been, that crashed over his body in an unstoppable onslaught of absolute brilliant glory, and then _oh my god, oh my god, ohmygod_ , he was coming, spilling, spending into his hand and onto his stomach, his head thrown back as he called out in gratefulness, joy and unrestrained relief.

 

And then he was rolling onto his side, curling in on himself, and sobbing, sobbing, sobbing. Because he hadn’t known, hadn’t wanted to remember, but he had missed this, missed this so fucking much. He thought it dead, taken from him like so many other things had been taken from him against his will. And now it was back, had been returned to him, his body, his own, and it was so much, too much, and all he could do was let the tears come and sob against his pillow, while the mess of his own seed cooled and dried on his stomach.

 

He had stayed there for over two hours, crying, shaking, trembling in his own skin, until he was finally able to take a breath and unclench his left hand from where he had been gripping the sheets. It had taken him another fifteen minutes before he was able to push himself up into a sitting position. And then another twenty minutes before he could rise to his feet, dizzy and exhausted, and stumble into the shower to wash himself clean. He somehow managed to find his way down to the kitchen after that, where he scarfed down two pieces of cold pizza, drank an entire container of chocolate milk, and finished off another tub of cookies, before he climbed back up to his room, closed the door and fell asleep for the next ten hours, a smile on his lips.

 

***

 

“You okay there, Buck?” Steve asked when he finally emerged from his room just a little after midnight, already dressed in a pair of jeans and a hoodie.

 

“Stevie, you have no idea how okay I am right now,” Bucky practically chirped as he made his way to the hall closet.

 

“Ummmmmm, okay then.” When Bucky glanced over his shoulder, Stevie was standing there with a very confused expression on his face. It was the perfect opportunity for a tease, but Bucky was in too good of mood to even bother. Instead he reached into the closet and pulled out his denim jacket. “Where're you going?”

 

“Silver Diner,” Bucky told him as he slipped his arms into the sleeves. “I am so fucking starving right now, I could eat an entire cow. But I want some pig too, and those bacon double-cheeseburgers of theirs are calling my name.”

 

“Okaaaaay.” Poor Stevie; he could be so dumb sometimes, and it was obvious he was confused.

 

“Wanna come?” Bucky offered. Because in spite of all that, ever since all of this had started, Steve had been there for him, the only person completely on his side. He had lent his shoulders, his strength, during the times when Bucky had not been able to stand on his own, without complaint and with a quiet grace, asking for nothing but Bucky’s companionship in return. They had shared a lot of their bad times with each other over the past two years. Bucky thought it only fair that they also shared the good ones as well, even if he was never, ever, _ever_ going to give Steve any of the details of what had happened today. There was no way to just ease _So I jacked off and had my first orgasm in over seventy five years today, and it was amazing. I hope it happens again. Let’s go celebrate with some bacon, meat and milkshakes!_ into a conversation without it turning awkward. But Bucky figured, if nothing else, it was the thought that counted.

 

“Yeah, okay.” Stevie was starting to recover from his confusion, the promise of bacon and grease enough to lure any man out of his self-imposed stupidity. “That actually sounds kinda awesome right now.”

 

“Well come on then,” Bucky cajoled as Steve made his way over and reached into the closet for his own jacket. Stevie was just starting to slip his arms into the sleeves when Bucky smiled at him. There must have been something in his expression as he did, because Steve jerked slightly. But it couldn’t have been too bad, because less than two seconds later, Steve was smiling right back.

 

“Hey Stevie,” Bucky said, giving the back of Stevie’s neck a gentle shake.

 

“Yeah Buck?” Steve asked, all charm and golden boy smiles.

 

“Race ya!” Bucky hip-checked Steve, sending him stumbling into the closet, before he turned and bolted out the door, laughing as he went.

 

“You asshole!”

 

***

 

Bucky and his penis came to an agreement after that. As long as they refrained from scaring the shit out of each other for no reason at all, they agreed to peacefully coexist, with Bucky’s dick doing whatever the hell it wanted, whenever it wanted to, while Bucky reaped the benefits.

 

It seemed as if once that part of his body, his self, had finally woken, all aspects of himself decided that he had a lot of lost time to make up for. He ended up spending a large chunk of those first few weeks either locked in his room or in the shower (which he once again was madly in love with) masturbating. At least once in the mornings, twice, sometimes more, when he was washing himself,  and two more times, sometimes three, late at night after he went to bed. That did not include the times Steve was out of the house, after a work-out, or just because he damned well felt like it.

 

At first it had all been in a rush, a fast and furious stroking of his hand over his dick, pushing himself as quickly as he could toward orgasm. But after the first two weeks of that desperate urge, and he had to admit a bit of fear that this new development was not permanent, he slowed down and began to explore, rediscovering the joy he could take in his own body. He experimented with things he remembered liking in the past, enjoying most of them, but surprised when he found that some of them no longer appealed to him in the same way. He also learned there were new things that brought him pleasure, that could send his body into a spiral of sensation that left him laughing and pleased with the world. So he fondled his own balls, changing his grip and pressure, and pulled and tweaked at his nipples, sometimes with sharp little tugs, or after he had covered his fingertips with his own saliva, in slow, steady heavy little circles. And all of the while he ran his right hand up and down, up and down over his dick, sometimes rapid and rough, other times steady and slow, shifting his hold so that the building ripples were drawn out for as long as possible. He liked a bit of teasing, he discovered, putting off his own pleasure, rocking it back and forth until he couldn’t take it anymore and with a final gasp, let himself surrender to his own body’s needs.

 

And then he discovered lube.

 

The twenty-first century really was a marvelous place. He had gone to the drug store (and drug stores in this era were also marvelous places where one could find almost anything) to pick up a few things for the house when he first noticed the small plastic bottles on a shelf next to other items, that had barely even been whispered about when he was younger, that were proudly on display. Curious, he had stared for a few seconds, reading the words _Personal Lubricant_ and _Astroglide_ , wondering what they were used for. A purchase of a small bottle, and a bit of research on the internet, and three days later Bucky was back at the drug store, buying an even larger bottle and a smaller one of a different brand to see which one he liked best, because _holy shit_ , lube was _amazing_.

 

He eventually tried using his left hand instead of his right. The cool metal had felt strangely smooth on his heated skin, unlike anything he ever experienced. It was actually kind of nice. Until he discovered that he had not been wrong when he had deliberately teased Steve about hair getting caught between the plates, because _Sweet Baby Jesus_ , pulling his hand away once he was done fucking stung like a sonovabitch. But he also discovered, if he used a little extra lube, and trimmed the hair down there, then it wasn’t too bad. (He just hoped that Steve would never ask what he did with the small scissors from their medicine chest. Or that he wasn’t using them for the same purpose Bucky was, because seriously, some things just didn’t need to be shared, no matter how close two people were.) He had not worked up the courage to see if he could get the plates to vibrate while he worked himself over, but well, maybe one day he could see what else the arm could do. But there were still plenty of other things for him to try, so he kept that option for a rainy day.

 

And all of it, from every single new thing about his body he was discovering, to each orgasm he ended up having as a result, was absolutely glorious.

 

With all of that, with this final reclaiming of his flesh and his skin, something in him seemed to unfurl, without him even being conscious of it at first. He was suddenly aware of himself and his body in a way he had never been before. His body was fully and finally all his own, and it changed everything about him. He found himself walking with a bit more of a strut in his step, not something he was purposely doing, but a shift in his stride that matched the pulsing of his blood. Textures, scents, and sounds all had a new appeal. Some because they called to him with something sweet, and others because they pulled at something deep within his core, a resonance of flesh and blood and potential. He began to notice the people around him in different ways as well; where before they had all been classified as potential threats until they were confirmed otherwise, he now noticed pretty women and handsome men. A flirty smile or catlike glance over a shoulder. A careless swaying of hips, or a strong jawline with or without stubble. Little details that had been inconsequential before, but now held a new meaning as he began to remember and understand the subtler nuances of flirtation and interest.

 

He also realized that others were starting to notice him as well, sometimes deliberately leaning in when he spoke to them or reaching out to rest a hand on his arm, his shoulder. He usually danced away from them, with a smile so there were no hard feelings, but every once and while he decided not to, instead choosing to share a small moment, a little bit of coquettishness before he went along on his way. He relearned all of the cues and signs, realizing that this had been a huge part of his personality before all of him had been stripped away. He had always been a bit of a flirt and a charmer. It seemed as though once he had first started coming back to himself, all of those months ago, not all of that had disappeared completely, and that was the reason why he usually found extra food in his orders, or an unordered side with almost all of his meals.

 

He started to experiment with other things as well, paying more attention to what he was wearing and how he dressed. Where before all of his clothing had been an effort to disguise, to remain as invisible as possible, he now liked to wear things that while still soft (that was important to him, would always be important to him), also clung to his skin a little more closely than anything previously had. So he started wearing jeans with a slimmer cut, and long sleeved shirts that were a little snugger. He looked at button downs that could be worn either on their own or over something else, t-shirts with different designs on them, sunglasses that were not just practical but stylish, and different kinds of sneakers and combat boots, seeing which ones had a fit he preferred but also in a variety of colors that could he could mix and match with whatever it was he was wearing that day. It was choice, wonderful, freeing, beautiful choice, and instead of overwhelming him as it had initially when he first realized that choice was something that existed, it was something he could embrace and explore, simply because he could.

 

He wasn’t careless about it, nor was anything he selected too flashy or attention drawing. He knew better than that. He also carefully catalogued and studied any and all reactions to anything he wore, to see what worked, what didn’t and what caused too strong of a reaction. Stevie started to look at him with an expression that was simultaneously befuddled and bemused. However, Senora Perez always smiled warmly at him, and Mr. Yuen had warned Bucky to stay away from his granddaughter, although he did say it with a laugh and an extra pork bun in Bucky’s bag.

 

But that was not the only thing Bucky made sure to take notice of. Whenever he went out, or decided to sit someplace to eat, he carefully studied all the people around him, looking for the clues, codes, and signs that would give him a deeper understanding of what were the new cultural norms.

 

He seemed to be better at it than Steve. Stevie was by no means stupid, never had been. And he always noticed even the smallest of details. But Bucky thought maybe it was because Steve had always focused on the injustices on the world instead of really paying attention to the things around them that were not so bad. Or maybe it was because Steve had been frozen, locked away in his own tomb of ice for a consistent seventy years, while Bucky had periods of awareness, however brief and sporadic, in the modern world, noticing the changes even if he had never been given the time or chance to actually process what he had been seeing. So while Peggy Carter had been a rarity in their time, he had not had to learn that was now not the case. Fashions had changed, as had sexual roles and expectations. Even the way cultures approached each other was different. There appeared to be attempts at greater understanding and appreciation when two disparate cultures came together to interact. Sometimes it seemed to work, and sometimes it didn’t. And there were always going to be assholes around; that hadn’t changed. There were still a lot of problems, stupid views and prejudices, and Bucky thought there sure as shit was room for even more growth. But it was better, a hell of a lot better than what had come before.

 

Especially, Bucky thought, as he sat and watched and observed and processed, when it came to men (and women) like him. He had been shocked the first time he  had seen a man lean over and kiss the man walking next to him quickly on the lips, followed by a softly murmured goodbye, right there on the street in front of him, without any shame or fear. Once seen, it could not be unseen and Bucky began to notice more and more similar pairings all around. There were the two women laughing together in Sunset Park, holding hands. The teenage boy who wore lipstick and eyeliner and worked in the Dunkin Donuts on Sixth Avenue, who was always telling his co-worker about his boyfriend whenever Bucky went in to grab a cup of coffee. And the older men, who owned the shoe store on the cusp between Sunset Park and Bay Ridge, who looked at each other the way Bucky’s father always looked whenever he spoke of Bucky’s mother, and had matching wedding bands on their hands. Men with men and women with women, and none of them seeming to believe that they were going to hell because of who they wanted to be with.

 

Bucky had long ago stopped believing in God. He simply couldn’t when his father had been killed merely for going to work and trying to make sure his family had food on their table. Or as he watched Stevie, golden, glorious, vibrant, struggle to breathe, knowing that he was always, always in pain, when no one in the world had ever deserved it less.

 

And hell. He had lived through hell, over seventy years of it, and there was nothing anyone could threaten his soul with that could be worse than what HYDRA had done to him. So he had no god and claimed no religion, and there was nothing any priest or church could proclaim that he would not scoff at.

 

But this, this was different. He had read enough and seen enough to know that it wasn’t always easy, and that there were still pockets of vitriolic hate. But it wasn’t illegal and they couldn’t lock him up for it anymore. There were even people out there like him, who enjoyed sharing their bodies with both men and women, _bisexual_ , which was a word he had not known in his youth. Such a strange, strange world, in so many ways. But also a better fit too, he thought, at least for people like him.

 

Yet none of that mattered, he supposed, if the one person he wanted to be with, the one person he had always loved with every drop of his blood and beat of his heart, before he even understood what the word love truly meant, did not feel the same way. He knew that Steve loved him, had always loved him. He would never have allowed Bucky to touch him the way he had that night before he had shipped off to war, or pursued him with such a relentless determination after their battle in DC in an effort to bring him home, if something didn’t resonate as deeply within him as it did in Bucky. But where in Steve it was the bonds of brotherhood, solidarity, friendship that was the call he honored and followed, for Bucky it was a never ending hunger, burning, yearning for more, more, _always more._ He loved him, had always been and would always be in love with him, until his dying breath.

 

But Steve didn’t want a man as a partner, and he would never, could never love Bucky in the same way. It wasn’t Steve’s fault. It simply just was. There didn’t seem to be any woman in Steve’s life at the moment, and he hadn’t mentioned anyone or spent any nights when he wasn’t working with the Avengers away from the row house, unless he was visiting Wilson. But Bucky knew eventually that was going to change. Bucky was stronger now, and didn’t need Steve’s help as much as he did merely a year ago (although he would always need Stevie in his life, always, always, always.) But one day, there was going to be some woman, with balls of steel and a mind just as vivacious and brilliant as Steve’s own. And Bucky would have to learn how to lie, and smile, and swallow down all of his bitter jealously, just like he had with Peggy, and love Stevie enough to let him go. If he really loved Stevie, and he really, really did, it was the only thing he could do.

 

Bucky sighed and looked at the cigarette dangling from his fingers. It had long since burned itself out, and the shadows on the rooftop told him that the late morning had slipped into mid-afternoon. Steve was down in DC, visiting Wilson. He wondered if Steve thought he wouldn’t notice how that had happened right after Bucky had asked him if what he thought he remembered passing between them had been true. The bravest man in the world, but unbelievably skittish at times. He was probably worried that since Bucky had remembered, he would start asking for things Stevie would not be willing to give. He didn’t have to worry. Bucky would never ask him for something like that ever again, even if something in him would always yearn, always want what could never be his.

 

Still, the house was empty, his ass was numb, and he was tired of feeling maudlin.

 

Yet he didn’t have to be alone. He knew that now. So with a last sigh, he dropped the cigarette butt into the empty bottle of Malta he brought up to the roof with him, rose to his feet, and headed back downstairs. He would chuck the bottle into the recycling bin, take a shower and change into something else. Once he was done with all of that, he would then go and visit his family.

 

He needed to spend some time with his mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that concludes this week's adventures of Bucky and his penis. **wink**
> 
> Some writer tidbits here (and once again, if this stuff bores you to tears, let me know and I'll stop). When I was first working on this chapter and I wrote the scene with Bucky and Claudine, I thought it was what it was - a sex worker who was being kind to Bucky at a time when he desperately needed it. Then a few days later, I was about to start working on the next part and I looked over what I had written, and reread Claudine's line about the Winter coming, and I my brain kinda went 'Wait a minute? What was that about?' All of a sudden, I couldn't help but wonder if Claudine was involved with HYDRA in some way. And to tell you the truth, I still don't know. I go back and forth on the issue even in my own head. So I'll leave that for you to decide. Is Claudine a very beautiful and very kind woman? Or is she a spy, who made HYDRA aware of their only successful specimen's whereabouts? 
> 
> Lastly...I just posted the first two chapters to this fic a few days ago, and oh my god! The comments! There was so much support and welcoming back, and seriously everyone, I was completely overwhelmed. It was my birthday a few days ago, and having all of these comments to read was one of the nicest gifts I could have ever received. So thank you all SO MUCH for the kind and encouraging words. I hope you continue to enjoy this story as I continue to post it.


	4. Family - Lulu

Bucky first noticed Casita Pepe within a week of his settling within the row house. It had been during his initial ventures out into the neighborhood, when he needed to get a sense of the area and ascertain its security. He’d been on his way to scope the block where he knew Steve had his apartment, cutting down 54th Street towards Seventh Avenue, when his attention was caught by a small eating establishment with brightly lit windows, from the sub level of one of the row houses near the corner. It was small and a bit out of the way, but there was a line of people outside waiting to get in. And the scents that were emanating out into the street were unlike any he had ever smelled before. But he’d had a mission, one that could not be avoided, no matter how loudly his stomach growled, so he filed the information in the corner of his mind, as he did with every other detail of his new environment, and proceeded on his way.

 

Three days later, once he had a better sense of Sunset Park, but was struggling to determine all of its secrets and rhythms while he balanced trying to settle into his skin in this new and very awkward life, he passed it again. The smells were just as enticing as they had been the first time, and once more there was a line of people outside. But it was shorter than that first day, and curious, with his stomach once more grumbling at him, he decided to get on line and see what the fuss was about.

 

Within ten minutes, he was inside of the restaurant. It was a small space, but immaculate and brightly lit. In the front area there were a series of glass cases, all displaying different types of fried foods. He would later learn all of their names, ( _alcapurrias, bacalaitos, papa rellenas, empanadias, cuchifritos_ ) _,_ but at first it was another overwhelming cascade of choice. Toward the back of the shop, there was a sitting area, hosting about fifteen tables. Nothing fancy or ostentatious, similar to a mess hall in its way, but where people were sitting down and looking over menus. Bucky patiently waited on line, always checking over his shoulder, while he listened to the loud and vibrant chatter of the patrons, all of it in a strangely accented Spanish that seemed to be the hallmark of this area, and stared at the food, trying to make up his mind.

 

In the end, he wound up ordering one of everything. He lifted the circular, flat item that was called a bacalaito to his lips, took a bite, and stumbled. It was hot and greasy, with a sharp crunch and flaky, salty fish center. It melted on his tongue in a wonderful and warm symphony of textures and tastes, and for a brief second his brain actually shorted out. He devoured the rest in two greedy bites, swearing he would kill anyone who tried to take it from him, and moved onto the next item. All of it, _all of it_ was amazing and savory, flavored with spices he had never tasted before, and he wanted more.

 

He turned around, knowing it was a risk, that people would definitely notice, but the food was so good and he had to have a second helping. The teen-age girl behind the counter smiled when she saw him and quickly went to work replicating his order.

 

“Never had Puerto Rican food before?” she asked in Spanish as she handed his bag over.

 

“No.” Bucky shook his head as he took the bag.

 

“It’s the best food in the world. Next time you come back, you should get a Coco Rico with your order. It goes with it perfectly. Now enjoy that and we’ll see you soon.”

 

They did. Bucky continued to explore the area, making sure he knew every shop on every side street, which faces belonged and which were just visiting, and trying other restaurants as he continued to discover the different types of food he liked. And he certainly did like his food. There were the pork buns from the bakery on Seventh Avenue, and the pizza at the small shop on Eighth. Not too far from that was the Korean restaurant that had fantastic bulgogi, and the taqueria serving amazing Mexican cuisine. He also ventured into other shops that sold Puerto Rican food, which he had learned were all called _cuchifritos_ from the fried items they sold. But none of them were as good as what he’d eaten at Casita Pepe, and he found himself returning there again and again.

 

It was okay, he was beginning to grasp, to want more; to ask for other things, try to discover what suited him, and even make a decision where absolute perfection and success were not the only parameters he needed to use as his guidelines. It had been so difficult for him to understand during those first, early weeks. But something in him was starting to reach, to demand more experiences just for the sake of having them, so eventually he decided to bypass the counter and see what was different about the offerings served at the back of the shop. Not the quick grab and go food from the front, but fuller meals one could only enjoy when they were willing to sit and spend time eating. The girl from the front, Magdalena, smiled again as she waved to him, saying, “Oh you’re going to love it. It’s all of my grandmother’s recipes and she’s the best cook in the world.”

 

Bucky sat at a corner table, his back to the wall, and after doing a very quick but thorough scan of the entirety of the premises, he opened the laminated menu he had been given and slowly started to read the offerings. All of the food was listed in both English and Spanish; chicken and yellow rice with pigeon peas, grilled chicken with white rice and black beans, vegetable stew with five kinds of meat, seafood rice, every single item sounding delicious and Bucky had no idea what to choose.

 

It was as he was rereading over the selections for the fourth time that he felt a pair of eyes on him and looked up.

 

There was a short woman approaching him, possibly in her sixties, although Bucky couldn’t be certain. She had straight black hair that was streaked with grey, cut in a chin length bob that surrounded a round face. Her body was soft and full figured, with hips that bore testament to having had children, and an earthy, roiling gait. She was wearing a red, crew neck sweater she had combined with black trousers that proudly displayed her curves, and a delicate gold chain around her neck from which hung a tiny cross. She was smiling as she approached, but there was a steel in her nearly black eyes that told Bucky he was being scrutinized. He was a stranger in her territory, and she was coming over to investigate. _If only she knew_ , he found himself thinking as he took in her gaze.

 

“Have you decided what you want yet?” she asked in Spanish when she reached his table. More steel in her voice, but also a kindness. She was not a threat, but a protector, and a curious one at that.

 

“No,” Bucky answered, looking down at the menu. It was the early days of his return, and his two halves had not yet fused themselves together. But he felt the Bucky aspect of him rising, remembering how to do this, to charm, to smile, just a bit, in order to ease the way. It still wasn’t easy, and it felt forced even to him, but it was there and he would use it now. “It all looks so good, and I can’t decide.” He matched her Spanish with his own, realizing that in just a few weeks of living here he had adapted his accent to match the one he most frequently heard.

 

But this woman, with her soft powdery scent and deep, dark eyes was not so easily swayed. She drummed the tips of her fingernails, neatly trimmed and covered with a maroon polish, over the top of the table and stared at him for a few more seconds, before something in her seemed to switch over and she smiled a small smile.

 

“Well, all of it is very good today. But if you ask me, I would get the mofongo,” she told him.

 

“I don’t know what that is.” He looked back down at his menu, searching for the item which he was sure he hadn’t seen.

 

“It’s a platano mash with beans and garlic. Today it comes with pork, and a side order of tostones. If you like Puerto Rican food, and my granddaughter says you’ve been coming here almost every day, then you’ll like this. You should try it.”

 

“Okay,” Bucky heard himself agreeing.

 

“Good.” She reached forward and plucked the menu out of his fingers. “I’ll tell the kitchen to make it for you. And I’ll be right back with your Malta.”

 

“Malta?” Bucky asked her back as she was turning to walk away.

 

“A Puerto Rican drink. A little thick and very dark. Most people can’t stand it, but most people have no taste,” she said as she glanced at him. “But you should try it, see if you like it.”

 

“I like Bustello,” he found himself admitting.

 

“Then you will like Malta,” she called over her shoulder with a knowing little nod as she walked away.

 

She was right. He did. It came in a tall brown glass bottle, and had a strange, sweet smell when he sniffed it.  It was thick and heavy on his tongue, with a syrupy undercurrent that had a bitter molasses-like taste. It reminded him of a heavy lager, but there was no alcohol in it, and was surprisingly filling as he took another sip, its foam clinging to the inside of his mouth. It wasn’t bad exactly, but it was definitely unique, even with his still limited experience. But as he took another taste, and then another, he found it was growing on him, and that he was definitely going to want to have it again.

 

Then there was the mofongo. It came in a tall, deep wooden serving dish, more chalice than bowl, still steaming as it was placed in front of him. There were several large pieces of fried pork rising from a mound of some sort of fried mash. But the pork was succulent and crispy when he bit into it, and the mash, a combination of platanos, garlic and beans, and bits of bacon was another explosion in his brain when he took his first bite that had him groaning and curling over his plate, shielding it with his arms as he devoured the food. The tostones, barely noticed at first as he shoveled forkful after forkful of the mofongo in his mouth, were some sort of fried banana. Not sweet, but savory, and _oh my fucking god_ , so damned good. Bucky was certain he must have lost some time as he sat there, making sure to capture every morsel so that the plate was practically licked clean when he was done, only looking up when he became aware of footsteps approaching, the Asset doing its job while Bucky fed himself.

 

But it was only the woman again, carrying another small plate with a spoon which she placed in front of him, along with a tiny cup of coffee.

 

“Flan,” she said, “and Bustello.” Without another word, she turned around and once again walked away.

 

It was the best meal of Bucky’s life. When it was done, Bucky leaned back in his seat, and for the first time in longer than he could remember, he felt full and satisfied. It was as if the inside of his body, his bones, his blood, his heart, were no longer trapped in its own ice, but as warm as the sun, or the beach ( _had he ever been to a beach?_ ) And maybe, just maybe they would stay that way for just a tiny bit longer. Then, even stranger, he felt himself smiling, believing, for the first time in a long time, that it was good to be alive.

 

As he left to pay, making sure to leave a generous tip on the table, he looked toward the counter that separated the eating area from the kitchen and saw the woman once again staring at him. He nodded at her and she nodded back. But this time, there was also a small, little smile on her lips, content, pleased and also sincere for the first time since she had come up to his table.

 

***

 

He went back. Not just to the front where he could grab something quick to eat while he was running errands, but into the restaurant proper so that he could sit, slowly pour over the offerings in the menu, and find something new. Whatever he ordered always made his taste buds sing. Initially, it was just once a week. Then twice. Then more and more, until eventually it became not so much a habit but a favorite place, with his favorite food, that was always there, steady and reliable, when so much in his life was not.

 

The woman never approached him again, even though she was there whenever he arrived. He would see her sitting at a small table in a back corner, or standing in the kitchen, pointing her finger and arguing with the two women who seemed to do the actual cooking, making demands or telling them to either add this or that to whatever it was they were preparing. She always nodded at him when he came in, and he knew her eyes were often on him as he sat in the corner table trying to decide what to eat. Whenever he was done, and had risen to leave she would return his small nod with a tiny smile of her own, not as tight as those first ones had been, but now mixed with a strange intensity that had not been there before. It should have made him uncomfortable, and it did at first. He was already dealing with Senora Lopez across the street from the row house, who he knew was Steve’s spy. But this woman never approached him again, and as he had already checked her email history, bank and phone records, he knew she wasn’t tied to HYDRA or any forces he had to be worried about, and she had never contacted Steve. She simply studied him and appeared to be happy whenever he enjoyed one of the meals in her restaurant.

 

And enjoy them he did. Puerto Rican food was turning out to be some of the best he’d ever had. It was all still new to him, this small area in Brooklyn that seemed to have so many different types of food for him to sample. He was still, even now, struggling with this abundance of choice, eating what he wanted when he wanted, and trying to form the imprint in his brain that there would be more, he could always have more, and as long as he had the cash to pay for his meals, no one would deny him. But there was something about this food that called to him. As he made his way through arroz con gondules, sincochos made from fish and other types of meat, pastelon, tostones and alcapurrias, it warmed him, just as it had the first time, and made something in him settle and calm. Maybe it was because he had never had this type of food before, so there were no memories or associations tied to it. Or maybe it was because this seemed to be the food that so many people in the neighborhood enjoyed, and by consuming it, it helped him to blend in, hide, feel like one of Sunset Park’s own, when he hadn’t felt like he belonged anywhere for far too long. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because it was that damned good. But it was calming, filling and easing parts of him he was not aware had needed easing until he was sitting with a hot plate of arroz con pollo, its steam rising up to kiss his nose with all of its promises.

 

It became a comfort, something he found he was using to soothe himself when the day had been rough, and he was raw, itchy, his brain almost bleeding with its fullness.

 

Those had not been easy days. Unsure, he was so unsure of himself and everything around him. And the house, the house was another ghost, another echo that made things pound in his head as the Asset and the Bucky he had been worked to find their balance; sometimes willing to embrace their other half, and sometimes slicing, cutting, stabbing, tearing each other to shreds as they battled for space in his head. But after a fit, or a flashback, or when both sides lost and he’d had to flee into the night, once he could pull his skin of humanity back on ( _and it was thin sometimes, so very, very thin and he wondered how it would ever hold all that was within him_ ), he would find himself coming back to Casita Pepe, hungry for a slice, just a teeny, tiny slice of one of the few things from back in those early days of his return that could make him feel normal.

 

It had been on one of those days, when he had been desperate and worn beyond his bones, and tired, so goddamned motherfucking tired of it all, that the woman approached him again.

 

Steve had come back, had made his presence known, and the two of them had started their circling of each other, uncertainty on both sides, but determination on Steve’s and gratefulness in Bucky making each of them slowly start to reach out to the other. It had been early days, and it wasn’t easy. Bucky doubted it ever would be easy, especially since just sharing a few pork buns together, when Steve had made a casual comment about Bucky’s family, a family he didn’t remember (and goddammit, why couldn’t he remember them. They were his, _his._ ) had sent his mind into a chaotic cascade of memories and pain that had him fleeing into the night. He had just returned, gone back to the row house to shower and was trying to remember that it was okay to be here, this was his life now, he was safe, when he looked around his kitchen, at all of the food that called to him but he knew he would never be able to prepare with the way his own hands were shaking, and decided to head over to Casita Pepe instead. It would be warm there, they would leave him alone, and the portions were always generous. Generous enough even for a man who had been starved for the past seventy-five years of his life.

 

Except when he got there, every single one of the tables were occupied. And there was a line waiting to be seated, when there had never been before.

 

 _Fuck_ , he thought, he shoulders drooping. _Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck._ It had taken all of the energy he had left to walk there, and he was so tired and hungry, and he didn’t know how he was going to make it back home. He had simply wanted some damned chicken and rice, but just like everything else in his life, in his head, it was not going to work. He had turned, hunching his shoulders even further to brace against the icy winds, and was halfway down the block when he heard her voice.

 

“Excuse me,” it called out to him in Spanish. He looked over his shoulder to see the woman from the restaurant following him. She was making her way toward him with a strong, steady stride, her gaze locked onto his face. He had been tempted, oh so tempted, to turn back around and bolt away, but he was tired, so damned tired, and she wasn’t even wearing a coat. So he stopped and waited for her to reach him, feeling the Asset rising and him almost letting it take complete control. He was too weak right now, too shattered, and it was impossible for him to hold his own pieces together enough to protect himself. The Asset would make sure they were secure while he tried to find a way to take another breath, just one more goddamned breath, and stitch his pieces back together.

 

“You didn’t stay. Why?” She came to a stop in front of him, a little more than two feet away, not close enough to make him feel uncomfortable.

 

“Crowded.” It was the only word he could think of that fit, the only one he was able to push past the ache in his teeth and pounding in his skull.

 

“Why didn’t you order anything to go?” she asked. She was studying him, running her eyes carefully over his face, taking in every detail. She had been doing it for months now, ever since he first walked into the back of her eating establishment, but there was nothing in it he could identify. It wasn’t like the cautious and guilt laden looks Steve would shoot him when they were together, and it did not feel like judgment. Her gaze simply observed, studied, accepted, without any weight, just like the Asset assessing a target immediately before the kill. Bucky found himself wanting to laugh, wanting to burble in a hysterical recognition of something that was so familiar to him, but even that would have been too much for him at that moment. And she was still waiting for an answer.

 

“Crowded,” he said again. He could hear the rasp of his voice, and wondered if she would know, could tell that he had spent most of the past week screaming out in pain, madness and desperation.

 

But she only continued to stare for several long seconds before she nodded, that small, little nod he had come to recognize as hers, and then turned around, waving at him to follow her.

 

“Come,” she said in Spanish, stopping only once to make sure he was still behind her before she made her way back in the direction she had come from. Bucky went, not knowing why, but too tired to question, to argue, needing someone else to make the decisions for him at that moment.

 

She led him into the restaurant, past the front area and then towards the back. But instead of stopping there, she waved her hand at him again, and brought him to a small alcove at the end of a tiny hallway, behind a curtain that shielded it from the kitchen area and hidden from view. Nestled in the corner was a square table, sturdier and of a better quality than the ones outside, but more scuffed and scratched, surrounded by six chairs.

 

“Sit there,” she ordered in her steely voice, pointing to a chair on the left side of the table, that would put Bucky in the corner with his back to the wall, able to easily see anyone coming or going. It was a comfort, a reassurance, and Bucky found himself wondering how she knew. “I will be right back with your food.” She turned sharply on her heel and walked away, disappearing behind the curtain.

 

Bucky had only a few minutes to wonder what the hell was going on, before she returned carrying a large, steaming plate and a bottle of Malta in her hand.

 

“What’s this?” he asked, as she placed it in front of him.

 

“Habichuelas rosadas y arroz blanco. Y chuletas. My family’s recipe,” she said. Red beans and rice, he knew. But it took half a second for his brain to translate the other, unfamiliar word for him, the tiny clicking only he could hear telling him some of the programming left over from HYDRA was engaging itself, as his mind searched for this term it did not know. It was an immediate response, one that always completed itself before he was aware it had even started, that took less than a fraction of a second. It was easier to deal with now than it had been, and like so many other things that he had become aware of, he could sometimes guide it, give it shape. This single word popped into his head quickly.

 

_Pork chops._

 

Oh.

 

She was still watching him, keeping her eyes on him the entire time as he unrolled the cutlery she had laid on the table next to his plate, laying the napkin on his lap. Once she was convinced he wasn’t going to turn away from her food, she nodded again and said, “Buen provecho,” before she turned and once more disappeared behind the curtain.

 

The food was, as it always was, amazing. The portions were huge, with a large helping of the beans and rice, and three, _there were three of them_ , succulent, juicy, perfectly seasoned pork chops. He’d been slightly hesitant as he lifted the first bite up to his lips, but the smell had been so enticing, familiar in the way that so much of the food from this eatery was becoming to him. It was exactly what he had been desperate for when he first walked in, and he found that within ten minutes he had greedily devoured everything on his plate.

 

Once he was done, he lifted his head and looked around, feeling more like himself (as fractured and barely held together as he often was) than he had in over a week. He had needed this, oh god he had needed this, and it was enough to let the pieces he had broken into when Steve had mentioned his family start to settle. He leaned back in his chair with a little sigh and looked around.

 

He was still looking around the tiny alcove five minutes later, with its small painting of the Virgin Mary hanging from one of the walls, wondering what he was expected to do next, (should he leave his money on the table? Walk out to the front and pay?), when the woman came back, carrying a small tray this time. She looked at him, his empty plate, then back up at his face, and nodded one of her small, tiny nods that Bucky now recognized was her sign of approval. She approached the table, expertly balancing the platter while she moved his plate to the side. She set the tray down, and then walked around to the other side, where she sat down next him. It was a deliberate choice on her part, Bucky realized as he watched her start to slide the items from her tray in front of the both of them. She wanted to sit next to him, but she had not blocked him in, letting him know in her so far very understated way, that there were things about him that she understood.

 

“Flan?” he asked, looking down at the small bowl she placed in front of him.

 

“Yes.” There had been a small tea-pot and two cups on the tray when she walked in, and she was fussing with them now, carefully pouring tea into each before she placed the cup on a saucer and onto the table in front of him. The scents were familiar to him too, sharp and sweet, but they felt strange, almost out of place in this small corner of the world that he did not yet understand was one of comfort, a shelter he would end up turning to time and time again to help him in the war against his own storms.

 

“What’s this?” he asked.

 

“Peppermint tea with honey,” she answered him in that same steady voice, velvet and steel, gentleness and strength. “I know you like your Bustelo, but sometimes at the end of the day it’s nice to just sit with some dessert and a cup of tea and relax. Now eat your flan. You look like you’ve had a bad day and could use a little something sweet.”

 

He did. The flan was as rich and creamy as it always was, and the tea, while strange at first when combined with the custard compared to his usual cup of expresso, was both light and sharp on his tongue, sweet but bracing, a nip in his mouth that was softened by the honey’s kiss. Next to him, the woman was quiet, not saying a word as she focused on her own dessert, but glancing at him every now and then to make sure he was enjoying her food.

 

He was. Now that the first hunger had been fed, and his stomach filled with her good cooking, he was able to take his time, really take his time, and savor the experience of her dessert in his mouth. And she was a quiet companion, her presence self-contained and self-assured. So different from Steve’s, who was big and blond and golden, in both body and spirit, so much so that Bucky often found himself having to build his own shields, brick by exhausting brick, just to walk next to him sometimes. But she was just as calculating, just as cunning as Steve, waiting for Bucky to swallow his last spoonful of flan before she spoke.

 

“You’re a vet, aren’t you?” she asked, placing her tea cup back in its saucer as she leaned back in her chair to once again study him. Bucky felt the panic rising like bile in the back of his throat ( _Who had told her? How did she know? Had she reported him in to anyone? How long did he have before they came for him? Had she poisoned his tea?_ ), and was standing, preparing to flee, to rip his way out of this place if he had to, good food be damned. But she was quick and steady, and most surprisingly of all, absolutely unafraid.

 

“No, no hijo. Calm down. Calm down,” she said gently, nodding toward the seat she had first led him to. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. It’s just that I had a cousin, Manny, who served in Vietnam, and he had the same look about him when he came back that you do, that’s all. Please hijo, sit down. I’m sorry.”

 

“And if I don’t?” And there was the Asset, uncertain if they were being threatened or not, but needing to know. This place was close to their base, and if she was a threat, it was crucial that she be removed.

 

“Then I will apologize for ruining your meal, and hope that you’ll come back tomorrow.” She hadn’t moved, hadn’t reached for him, hadn’t tried to stop him. But she hadn’t cringed or looked at him with fear either. Just sat there in that small alcove that smelled of pork chops and peppermint, staring at him calmly. After a moment, Bucky sat back down, and for the first time since he had encountered her, he saw something else in her face besides steely determination; relief. It was relief, there at the corner of her mouth, as she reached out and slowly poured him another cup of tea. And that was…Curious. Why was she relieved?

 

“Listen to me,” she said as she slid the cup back in front of him. “I’ve been watching you for a while now. You come in here almost every day for something to eat. Sometimes you come and grab something quick, and sometimes you sit in the back over there.” She waved to the area behind her. “And then there are some days, like today, when you look like you are barely holding on and would break if I pushed you. But then you sit, and you eat my food and the color comes back to your face, and when you leave, you always smile. And I love to cook, I always have, and nothing makes me happier than to see somebody smile like that after they’ve eaten my food.” She paused and took a sip of her tea, lowering her eyes for a moment as if she were considering something. She took another sip, placed her cup back in its saucer, and then looked back at Bucky, her decision made.

 

“But you, I think you need even more than a few good meals to make you keep smiling. And this, this is a safe space. You will always be welcome and you will always be safe here,” she told him. “From now on when you come, don’t even bother sitting out there. You just ignore everyone else and come back here and sit down. This is where me and my family eat, and no one will disturb you. Well, Josefina may be here every once in a while but I’ll make sure she leaves you alone.”

 

“Josefina?” It was the only word Bucky could think to grab onto and repeat.

 

“My granddaughter,” she said. “She’s very, very smart, but very, very quiet. She’ll probably just be here doing her homework. Don’t worry, she’s a good girl, and I think the two of you could both use somebody to sit with in the quiet. But other than that, you’ll be left alone. Come back here whenever you need, and I’ll feed you myself, the food I make for my family, not the things we offer out there. As long as you don’t make any trouble, you will always be welcome here.”

 

Bucky blinked at her, trying to understand, to identify the strategy behind this sudden offer. There was nothing but her steadfast gaze, still intense and true, but softer than it had been before, and the strange and contradictory scents still lingering in the air.

 

“Why?” Was all he could think to ask when he realized that the silence had gone on for far too long while she waited for his answer. She didn’t appear to be bothered by his lack of response or question when he finally did speak, instead smiling her tiny, little smile.

 

“Why?” she repeated. “Because food and kindness are both simple and very easy to give. And I don’t think you’ve had a lot of either in a very long time.” Bucky looked down at his saucer, watching the tiny wisps of steam rise and curl around each other, feeling something in his heart shudder, coming to life with an ache that told him she had somehow struck upon one of his truths, that she had seen something in his core and for no reason he could understand, was offering him compassion and gentleness. And weak, wanting, starving for it where before he had been merely hungry, he found himself nodding.

 

“Thank you,” he whispered.

 

“You are very welcome,” she said, leaning back in her seat. “Now that we have that out of the way, my name is Lourdes Rodriguez. Most of my customers call me Senora Rodriguez. But you are a friend now, so you can call me Lulu.”

 

She was watching him again, waiting, and Bucky realized she was expecting his name in return. He opened his mouth to tell her Jamie, the name he was giving to most people when they asked, a vague facsimile of his old one, but close enough to hold some truth, when he heard himself say,

 

“My name is Bucky.”

 

She smiled at him again, and Bucky realized that it was her real smile, bright and kind and wide, that made dimples wink at him from her cheeks. But gentle, still gentle, and even stronger than he original thought.

 

“It’s very nice to finally meet you Bucky,” she said, reaching out and for the first time laying her hand over his own.

 

***

 

It was both a truth and a lie.

 

A truth because that little room, hidden in the back alcove of Casita Pepe, did indeed become a safe space, a treasured little corner of the world he could go to whenever the world had overwhelmed him, and even Steve’s presence was too much for him to take.

 

And a lie, because contrary to her words, she did not leave him alone.

 

As those first days turned into weeks and months, whenever Bucky walked into Senora Rodriguez’s restaurant and made his way toward the hidden little table in the back, she would place a plate of food in front of him, and instead of leaving him alone as she first had, she would sit and watch him eat, talking to him all the while.

 

Initially, she told him about herself and her family. How she had been born and raised in Puerto Rico, moving to New York when she was just nineteen years old and newly married, following her husband who had been looking for work. Times had been difficult and money tight, so she had opened a small kitchen to help supplement her family’s income. She had her mother and her grandmother’s recipes, loved to cook, and it was easy enough for her to do. Except to everyone’s surprise, especially her husband’s, her small business, started with a loan from her family, had been even more popular than she expected. Seeing the opportunity for what it was, she expanded her small cuchifrito into a full-fledged restaurant. It eventually gained enough of a reputation, and was so profitable that she was able to purchase the entire brownstone above her once tiny kitchen, where she now lived with most of her family. Said family included three of her daughters, Damaras and Delores, the older two, who now ran the kitchen themselves, and Dorcas, who was an accountant with a thriving business of her own. She had nine grandchildren, seven of whom were already in college studying to pursue careers of their own, and one, Dorcas’ youngest daughter, Magdalena, who worked in the restaurant for extra money. It was a family affair, run entirely by women, Senora Rodriguez told him, long since widowed when her husband had died from a heart attack more than fifteen years ago. But they were proud of their food, and the way they had been able to support themselves and send their children to university, while being able to be an active and contributing part of their community.

 

Bucky sat and quietly listened, occasionally asking a question when he wanted to know more, but mostly just enjoying the food she happily fed him while she told him about her life, the neighborhood and all of the adventures she and her family had gotten into over the years. He also learned that there were more levels to Senora Rodriguez than he had originally observed. His initial impression of her being steadfast and calm, a fierce protector of her family, was not wrong. But she wasn’t as quiet or unobtrusive as he had first thought. She often argued with her children, shouting at them in the kitchen when they added too much of one spice, or changed a recipe that had been handed down by her grandmother. Her daughters would snap right back, claiming that times were changing and there was nothing wrong with experimenting, while Senora Rodriguez stormed into the kitchen and tried to undo whatever it was they had done. She may have claimed to be retired, but that didn’t mean she was willing to step aside and let someone take control of her kitchen. She was perceptive and intelligent, with a sharp sense of humor, and could be shockingly vulgar on occasion, catching Bucky off guard more than once when she made a comment about what someone was wearing, or how the only thing that could be appealing about her second youngest daughter’s latest boyfriend was his big dick, because “Bucky, you haven’t seen his face. The man has a nose like a moose. I pray to god that he’s also hung like one, because no woman would want to wake up and see that across her pillow unless he could fuck like an animal.”

 

Bucky had choked on his Malta when she said that.

 

“Maybe they do it doggie style,” Damaras called from the kitchen. “You can pretend it’s whoever you want when you’re on your hands and knees.”

 

“You will be on your hands and knees scrubbing the floor if you put anymore adobo in that soup Dama! What have I told you about that?”

 

Bucky was too busy coughing to hear Damaras’ response.

 

She was kind and endlessly curious about those around her. But cunning and smart enough to work her way around getting any information she wanted out of someone, without making it feel like they were being interrogated.

 

She would sit with Bucky whenever he was there, casually asking him about his day and how he was doing as they ate either lunch or dinner together, in such a gentle and lighthearted way that Bucky found himself answering most of her inquiries. He was still careful and never revealed too much about himself, but as time passed he responded not only to what he began to recognize was concern, but also because it was simply nice to have someone else, someone outside of the Gordian knot that was his brain and his life, to talk to.

 

So he told her about the house, and how it had been in bad shape when he first arrived, but it’d been a shelter when he’d had none. How that shelter had been given to him by a friend, his oldest friend in the world, who had been worried about him, and in return for that generosity he had cleaned and was now working on restoring the interior. He told her about his successes, (fixing the leaky sink in the second bathroom on the second floor), and his failures (how the dryer in the basement had given him problems and he only discovered the clogged lint screen after he pulled it out too quickly, ending with a face full of lint, dust, and who knew what the hell else that left him sneezing for hours.) She either smiled encouragingly or laughed at his mishaps, always with a gentle pat to his hand and a shared cup of Bustelo.

 

Eventually he even told her about Steve. Once more, he never gave her too many details, but during one conversation, when he had been relaxed and the day’s renovations had gone well, he had laughed, “You should have seen the look on Stevie’s face when he first saw that red velvet wall paper.”

 

“Who’s Stevie?” she asked, a curious glint in her eye.

 

“Stevie,” Bucky said quietly. “My friend.” That was nowhere near what Steve was to him, even back then, but those were the only words that could even begin to fit who and what Steve was in his life.

 

“The one from when you were kids? Who’s been helping you all this time?”

 

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. Him. Stevie.”

 

“So that’s his name,” was all she said, before she urged him to go on with his retelling. She asked more questions after that, usually starting most of their conversations with “And how’s Stevie doing today?” after she had asked about him. He never gave away too many details, never telling her that Stevie was actually Steven Grant Rogers, Captain America, the most well-known and respected of all of the Avengers. But other than that, he was mostly honest with her. And her insight, advice, and guidance often helped him when he was struggling with both Steve and himself, and how to approach a situation. She often laughed when he recounted their conversations and the way Stevie had reacted, always eager to know more. But she was also respectful and easily backed off whenever she could tell Bucky was struggling, offering her support and her shoulder if it was wanted, but never becoming offended if he refused.

 

She even became an ally of sorts, something he never thought he’d have, when it came to Steve, never hesitating to cook him something special when Bucky knew Steve was going to return from a battle worn and hurt, telling him to tell his friend to stop being so stupid, and if he needed anything else, anything at all, then he could always come to her and her family for help.

 

Most amazingly of all, several months after she had first invited Bucky to her family’s table, he found himself doing something he never thought he would, and telling her more about himself than he had ever told anyone. She was a perceptive woman, and very quickly seemed to develop a sixth sense about Bucky’s moods and how she would need to approach him on any particular day. And Bucky had never been so grateful for that as he was that third week in April, when the flashbacks had hit him hard and fast, and it had been night after night of terrors that had him screaming in the dark, waking up to the taste of his own blood at the back of his throat.

 

He’d been too weak, too fragile to come for a few days. And Steve, knowing that it was bad, that Bucky was struggling, had been hesitant to leave, his own protective instincts kicking in. Bucky appreciated it, he really did. Steve never faltered in his care or his willingness to go above and beyond in order to provide Bucky whatever it was he needed. But sometimes what Bucky needed was a little bit of space and quiet to let the silts float and settle on the shores of his mind after the waves had passed. Steve had finally left for the evening, yet as usual Bucky couldn’t settle. Desperate for something, anything to make it all stop, he had dragged on his rattiest jeans and hoodie and made his way to the now familiar little restaurant, hoping for a little peace, a little something that he could not name, just to make it go away.

 

Except when he walked in, he realized it was fifteen minutes before closing time and there would be no way that he could sit and enjoy a quiet meal when everyone was getting ready to end their own day and find their own little slices of home to nest in.

 

But Senora Rodriguez had seen him at the door, taken one look at him, rushed over.

 

“Bucky, Bucky, what’s the matter mijo?” It was the first time she had ever called him that, her nearly black eyes wide as she took him in. “You’re grey. What has happened?”

 

Bucky looked around, at the tables that had the chairs stacked on top of them and the freshly mopped floor, and shook his head.

 

“Sorry,” he muttered. “It’s late. I’ll go home.”

 

“No,” Senora Rodriguez said. “No, don’t be ridiculous mijo. It is never too late for you. And I’ve been saving a plate for you all day. Come.” She didn’t touch him, but held out her hand, the offer there, but letting him make the choice. He reached out, and as soon as his fingers met hers, her eyes widened. “What has happened mijo? You’re freezing and you’re shaking. Come, come, let me feed you.” She led him to the little table in the little back room and sat him down, telling him not to move, that she would be right back with his meal.

 

Less than three minutes later she came with a plate of food. Mofongo with pork, one of his favorites, still warm. She placed it in front of him and then made a tching sound with her teeth. “Ah, I forgot your fork and your Malta. I’ll be right back.” Bucky was barely aware of her turning and walking away. All he could do was stare at the food in front of him, at the steam that was rising, and the glistening pieces of pork, still pink and wet with their own juices…

 

Pink and wet with their own juices….

 

_Pink and wet with their own juices just like his entrails had been when he looked down at his stomach, the only movement the bands around his body permitted from where he was strapped to the table, his own blood, bile and stomach acid hot on his skin while his entire body shrieked and screamed and convulsed against its bonds._

 

_“As you can see, the heartrate is elevated, but its functionality is unimpaired by the injury it has sustained. And this is only from a single gunshot. Given its healing properties it should be able to survive even further damage and still complete its assigned mission.”_

_“How much more damage?”_

_“Let us find out, shall we?”_

 

When the memory released him, Bucky found himself crouched over the toilet in the men’s room, his body heaving in violent, painful spasms. There wasn’t much, he had spent the past three days vomiting intermittently, but it was still a brutal, pounding assault on his body as he spit up bile, phlegm and a few streaks of blood. He lifted his shirt, having to check, to make sure that the flesh was un-ruptured and his intestines still intact, running a shaking hand over smooth, unblemished skin, and then collapsed to his knees, his forehead pressing into the cool porcelain of the toilet.

 

It was fifteen minutes before he could force himself to his feet and barely stumble back to the little dining room. Senora Rodriguez was already there, waiting for him, her eyes wide with shock.

 

“Sorry,” Bucky breathed. It was barely a whisper, harsher than his usual rasp, and he couldn’t meet her gaze. She was such a nice lady, kind, staying late to ensure he had eaten and all he’d done was puke in her bathroom, the mess of him now all over her clean tiles. He could feel the weight of her study as he stood there with his head bowed, knowing after tonight he would no longer be welcome here.

 

“Well,” she finally said. “You didn’t even get a chance to take a bite of your mofongo, so at least I know it wasn’t my food.” He looked to see her smiling at him; it was small but kind, with not a single bit of judgment in her gaze. She met his astonishment with an arched eyebrow. “Too soon?” Bucky could only stare. Her expression shifted, her smile disappearing to be replaced with a look of such concern Bucky almost stumbled back. It didn’t stop her though, as she slowly made her way forward, her hand again reaching out for him.

 

“Come mijo,” she said, her fingers soft and warm as they wrapped around him. “Let’s go upstairs. I think you need something a little different tonight.”

 

That was the first night she brought him up into her house and her kitchen, where she sat him down and made him peppermint tea with honey. It was not the first time they had shared a cup, but it was the first time they had one together in her little tan and yellow kitchen, at the round table that could easily seat six. And it was the first time she slid a plate of nothing more than saltine crackers in front of him, which she told him to eat, because it would help settle his stomach.

 

It was also the first time Bucky told her some of what had happened to him. Not much, not all of it – no one could ever know all of that. But more than he had told anyone, even Stevie.

 

_I was in the war._

_Everyone else thought I was dead._

_But I was captured._

_They had me for years._

_They tortured me._

_They conducted experiments on my body while I screamed and screamed and screamed._

_They cut off my arm and gave me this._

_They made me do things, horrible things to other people, and I couldn’t stop them._

_One day, I escaped._

_Steve found me and brought me here._

_I sometimes wish I was dead._

 

She listened, not saying a word, but never letting go of his hand, his metal one that he had finally shown her the truth of, and let him speak the words that were a brief and brutal history of his life.

 

And when he was done, she didn’t deny any of his truths or try to coddle him. Instead she rose from the table and pulled him into her arms, pressing his head gently against the warmth of her breast, something old, something he couldn’t remember, but knew should be familiar in the feel of her softness against his cheek as she ran her fingers through his hair.

 

“But I am so happy that you’re not,” she finally said, cradling him close and rocking him back and forth. “Because that means you are here now, you are home now, and I can take care of you mijo. And I will, I promise you, I will.”

 

He spent the night in her apartment, sleeping on her couch, the first uninterrupted night of sleep he’d had in over a week, while she kept her promise.

 

In exchange for that, over a breakfast of arroz blanco, huevos frito and tostones, she extracted a promise of her own from him.

 

“You’ve been calling me Senora Rodriguez for weeks now, even though I told you you didn’t have to. You will call me Lulu from now on, like I told you when we first sat together. You will call me that for now, until you are comfortable enough in your heart to call me something else, yes?”

 

“Yes Senora-“ he stopped at her glare and amended his words, “Yes Lulu.” She nodded and then rose from the table, pouring more hot water into his cup of peppermint tea.

 

Before he left later that day, she pressed a small red and white box into his hands. “You are always welcome here,” she had switched to English when they usually spoke to each other in Spanish. “But now you know. Peppermint tea Bucky, whenever your stomach bothers you, drink some, with a little bit of honey, and it will help things settle. Or come here, and I will make you a cup. It helps, it always helps. You’ll see.”

 

Things changed between them after that. He still went to her restaurant as often as he could for meals and company, finding peace in her presence and the vibrancy of her family. Even after Steve moved into the row house with him, he always found time to stop by several times a week, sometimes sitting in the little alcove, or when he came to her grey, weak, as fragile as ashes, upstairs with her in her kitchen where she made time and room for him in her life, and listened to anything he had to say. Her told her about the flashbacks and the nightmares, and how sometimes as a result he had to leave, to run, to _gogogo_ because the world was crashing in on him and he was afraid of being devoured. She took it easier than Steve did; maybe it was because she was older than the both of them and had seen more of the world and the repercussions of life, even if they had been born years before her. Or maybe it was because of her cousin, whom she had loved dearly, she confessed to him one night, had ended up taking his own life as a result of what he had been through. Or perhaps it was because she had never known him before, never met the Bucky who had been, only knew the Bucky of now, broken, struggling, desperate to find a way to make himself fit. But she never judged and she never tried to force him into a shape that wasn’t meant for him. She just sat and listened and accepted.

 

“When you have to go, you go,” she told him one evening over what must have been their millionth cup of peppermint tea together. “And when you can come back, come back. See your Stevie, because I know he worries over you. But once you have, once he is willing to let you out of his sight, you come here. Because you’re part of this family now too Bucky, and we will need to lay eyes on you ourselves, to know that you’re safe and have come back home to us.”

 

And she was right. Because it wasn’t just her anymore. She had not only given him her home cooked meals, and a breast to rest his cheek upon when he needed softness and gentle fingers in his hair. Or quiet, sound advice over a cup of peppermint tea late at night. In her kindness and her wisdom, and her endless, infinite generosity, she had also given Bucky her family as well.

 

***

 

The first was Joey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone was curious about mofongo (which is AMAZING):
> 
> https://www.tripsavvy.com/puerto-rican-dish-mofongo-1621969
> 
> And then there's the Malta Lulu serves Bucky. Malta is a strange drink - people either love it or hate it; there doesn't seem to be any in between. I myself really enjoy it, but it definitely takes a bit of getting used to if you've never tried it before.
> 
> http://www.wikiwand.com/en/Malta_(soft_drink)
> 
> As always, all of your comments guys - they bring me nothing but joy (almost, but not quite as much as Bucky whenever he's eating Lulu's food. THAT'S how much he loves it. **wink**)


	5. Family - Joey

_Author's Note - Just as an FYI, this chapter, the one previous, as well as the following one and half run parallel to events that happened during Bucky's recovery during The Taming._

 

 

 

 

Two weeks after Lulu invited him to her family’s table at the back of her restaurant, Bucky was hunched over a plate of bistec and arroz con habichuelas when he heard pounding footsteps making their way down the back stairs. He felt the Asset rise in him, taking notice, but he was armed (he was always armed), and Lulu had said that no one would bother him while he ate, so kept his attention on his food, and let the Asset do its job, while in exchange he fed their body. A few seconds later, the curtain was pushed aside and those same heavy footsteps stomped into the room, making their way toward the table with an exasperated sigh.

 

When he glanced up, there was a girl standing there, with her arms crossed. She was very young, wearing a dark blue school uniform with a blazer and knee length skirt, but he wasn’t sure. She was short and plump, with a cloud of corkscrew curls around her head that bounced with every move she made. She had a round face with wide set light brown eyes that were studying him, and what looked like might have been a full grin if she weren’t scowling. Bucky met her stare, letting her look her fill while he conducted his own study, until she sighed again (very dramatically), plopped her book bag onto the table, and sat down across from him. She didn’t say a word, just continued to glare at him, until she made a small snort of disgust and began to pull her books and an old, battered laptop from her bag.

 

“You must be Bucky,” she said with another accusatory glance. “Abuela said you’d be here, and that I have to leave you alone and be nice to you. I don’t know why since you’re sitting at my table, but Abuela said so. But if I have to leave you alone, then you better leave me alone, because I have to do my homework, and I don’t want to waste my time talking to you when I have more important things to do.”

 

“Okay,” he told her and went back to eating his food. He could feel her eyes on him, sense her surprise at his non-reaction, but well, she had laid down her rules and they were easy enough to follow. Besides, he had an entire plate full of arroz con habichuelas in front of him, and they were quickly becoming some of his favorite things in the world.

 

“Good,” she said in a little snotty voice a few minutes later, and then turned her attention to do all of those important things she said she had to do.

 

That was how they spent their first afternoon together, Bucky quietly eating his food, while she huffed at him from her seat, and worked on her homework. The only interruption was when Lulu poked her head in, some twenty minutes later to check on them, studying the two of them carefully for a moment before she nodded and asked Bucky if he wanted more rice.  After she had taken his plate to get him some more, the little girl lifted her head, huffed at him again, and gifted him with another glare.

 

“You’re a glutton,” she said in her squeaky little voice.

 

“Yeah,” was all he said. Another huff, another little frown and then she turned back to her schoolwork.

 

Bucky thought she was absolutely adorable.

 

***

 

Two days later she was back again, stomping into the room in her little storm of bouncy curls and sharp attitude.

 

“Oh, you’re back,” she snapped as she dumped her things onto the table. “Did you even bother to go home or did you just stay here the whole time, eating all our food?”

 

“I like the food,” he answered as he shoveled a forkful of pernil into his mouth.

 

“Well don’t eat it all this time.” Her voice was haughty. “The rest of us have to eat too, you know.”

 

“Okay,” Bucky answered around another mouthful of pork.

 

She didn’t say anything else to him for the rest of the afternoon, once again focusing on her schoolwork. Instead she spent the rest of her time kicking the table leg with her feet as if she were hoping to annoy him into leaving. But Bucky had grown up with Stevie, and had learned how to ignore all of his attempts at annoyance ages ago (funny how he had not forgotten that). And then there had been HYDRA and everything they had done to him. If this little girl thought a few table kicks were going to aggravate him into leaving, she had another think coming.

 

Lulu once again popped her head in, but once she saw them both ignoring each other just as they had been the last time, she merely nodded and left them to it.

 

***

 

Things continued on in this way for the next week. The little girl would storm her way into the room, express her displeasure at his presence, and then sit herself down and work on her homework. But the fifth time they were together, something changed.

 

She came in, as haughty as any queen, exhaled her displeasure and once again pulled out her homework. It was obvious she was unhappy, but this time it wasn’t directed at him. There no little huffs, hisses, or kicks to the table. Instead there was a frustrated vibration coming from her direction, but when Bucky looked up, it was to see her frowning at her laptop screen, biting her lip. She had pulled out a calculator and was glancing from its screen to her laptop with a frustrated scowl. She caught him looking, scowled at him some more, and then turned to her work. Bucky went back to his food.

 

“Is this right?” came her sharp little voice ten minutes later, turning her laptop around so he could see the screen. Bucky blinked at it, read what she had been working on and then glanced at her in surprise, only to find her staring at him with a smug little smile. Because that was advanced trigonometry she working on, complex and intricate, and it was definitely something that should have been beyond her age level. “Oh no, never mind. I forgot for a second that you’re stupid. Don’t worry about it. I’ll figure it out eventually.” She began to pull the laptop back, but Bucky reached out, glancing at the problem again, quickly typing in the answer with his left hand, before sliding it over and turning back to his food.

 

He had always been intelligent, always. It was yet one more thing history had forgotten about him, another facet that was lost in the shadows that was the myth of Captain America and the Howling Commandos. But he had excelled in school, getting the highest marks in all of his classes, and had always loved learning. As a sniper, math was his greatest tool, even more important than his rifle. He had to be able to triangulate shots, calculate and compensate for variables that could reverse themselves in less than a second, and be prepared to adapt even quicker than that. Algebra, geometry, calculus, trigonometry, and physics all played a roll, and whatever HYDRA had done to him, with their training and poisons, had only increased whatever natural talents he’d had. So math, even complex math of the highest levels, was as easy for him as breathing was for others.

 

He could see it on her face as she pulled her laptop back. She had some comment on the tip of her tongue that she was getting ready to unleash. Until she took a quick glance at her screen, saw what he had typed and froze.

 

She looked between him and her laptop, and then grabbed her calculator, furiously pushing at its keypad.

 

“How’d you do that?” she eventually asked, something different in her eyes when she looked at him. He just shrugged. “No seriously, how did you figure that out? I’ve been trying to get the answer for the past hour. How’d you know that?”

 

“You know the answer now,” he told her as lifted a spoonful of soup to his mouth. “Try working it backwards. See if that helps.”

 

She squinted, as if she didn’t trust him, but then turned back to both her calculator and laptop to do as he said. Five minutes later she sat back with another tiny little huff, that wasn’t sharp or angry, but actually sounded just the slightest bit impressed.

 

“That worked,” she admitted, studying him. “Why did that work?”

 

“Sometimes you have to think around the problem to get the answer,” he said around another spoonful of soup. “Come at it from a different angle to find the solution. But you were very close.”

 

“Huh.” She was biting her lip again, thinking over his words, before her she looked at him once more, the speculation clear in her eyes. “Why do you know that?”

 

“Why are you doing advanced trig? What are you, nine years old?”

 

“I’m twelve!” she huffed at him, back to her sharp and cutting haughtiness. “And I’m very smart. It’s not my fault I’m short!”

 

“I never said you were short.” He swallowed more soup and ignored yet another one of her glares.

 

“And why do you talk like that?” she retorted.

 

“Like what?”

 

“Like a robot, all raspy and flat. Is that why you knew the answer? Because you’re a robot?”

 

Bucky held back the snort he felt in his throat. _Oh kid, if only you knew._ “Only part of me,” he said instead, knowing she would have no idea how true that was.

 

“It’s probably your stomach with the way you eat.”

 

“Well apparently even robots love your Abuela’s cooking,” he responded in Spanish, watching as her eyes grew even wider.

 

“You speak Spanish too?” she shrieked in surprise.

 

“I speak a lot of languages kid.”

 

“My name is not kid!” she snapped back at him, just as he knew she would.

 

“Oh no? Then what it is?”

 

“My name is Josefina,” she announced with another kick to the table leg. Ah, so this was the infamous Josefina, the little genius that Lulu loved to brag about. “Josefina Luisa Marianna Rodriguez.”

 

“That’s a lot of names,” he told her. “No wonder you’re so short.”

 

“It doesn’t matter if I’m short.” She kicked the table again, even harder this time. “Because you’re still stupid. Even if you are a robot who can speak Spanish.”

 

Bucky shrugged. “I’m just here for the food,” he said, making sure to keep his voice extra flat before he lifted and swallowed a spoonful of chicken.

 

She made a noise then, abrupt and loud, a little like a duck’s squawk. Bucky realized it was her laugh, because when he looked up at her, she was actually smiling at him. It was wide and changed her entire appearance, making her look her age for the first time. He met it with one of his own, and her grin grew even larger, pulling back farther to reveal one of her incisors, a little crooked and longer than the rest, that looked like a teeny, tiny fang. It was one of the cutest things he had ever seen.

 

From just outside the doorway, peering through a crack in the curtain, thinking she was unseen, Lulu watched the both of them, smiling a small smile of her own.

 

***

 

Things changed after that. Josefina still came stomping into the room every afternoon (Bucky quickly realized that was just her normal walk, a tiny little _stomp-stomp-stomp_ that echoed through the house), and settled in her usual chair across from him. She stopped hissing at him every time she saw him, instead quickly working on her assignments, rushing through them. Once she was done, she would turn her laptop around and shove it in his face, demanding he check over her results.

 

“I am trying to eat here, you know Josefina,” he told her the third time it happened as she was pushing his plate aside.

 

“Oh please,” she rolled her eyes at him. “That’s your third helping so far. There are more important things in life besides eating.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Like double checking my homework so I can get an A. Nobody else can help me. They don’t understand it. Now look and make sure I didn’t make any mistakes,” she ordered as she picked up his bowl of arroz con gondules and began to eat it.

 

“Hey!”

 

“Oh please,” she said again. “Like Abuela won’t give you more.”

 

“I swear to god kid –“

 

“My name is Josefina!”

 

“Your name is pain in my –“

 

“I’ll tell Abuela! And then she’ll stop feeding you and you’ll starve to death because you don’t want to eat anything else.”

 

“I like pork buns.”

 

“Oh, from the Half Moon Bakery up on Seventh? Those are good. I like them too. Now stop thinking about food and double-check my homework. I think I got everything right but I want to be sure,” she said around a mouthful of his rice and beans. It was Bucky’s turn to roll his eyes at her, but he ended up doing what she asked.

 

Aside from that one time, there never were any mistakes. Because Josefina wasn’t just smart, she was brilliant. She was only twelve years old, but she had been skipped ahead two grades, and attended a specialized private school on a scholarship. She already found the majority of her classes too easy, and there was seldom anything she couldn’t figure out on her own given enough time. She didn’t really need his help, and if there was something that confused her, it usually confused him as well. But if he asked her the right questions, and they approached whatever the problem was from a different angle, they were able to figure it out together within a few minutes.

 

She may have been a genius, but she was still only twelve years old, and as a result of her intelligence she had even more problems than average. He quickly realized that all of her initial causticness and sharpness was only a defense mechanism, one that she had developed to shield herself from a world that she struggled to fit into.

 

“Please don’t call me kid anymore,” she said to him the fourth time he had called her that, meaning it as a joke, a tease, wanting to get her to snap back at him as she usually did. It was fun, bantering with her, and he found he enjoyed talking with her as much as he enjoyed talking to her grandmother, if in a different way. But her voice had been soft, timid, shaky, when it had never been that way before. When he turned to look at her, her head was down and she was playing with her pen.

 

“Okay,” he agreed. She glanced at him quickly out of the corner of her eye, before she lowered her head even further.

 

“I know I’m short,” she eventually said in a tiny whisper. “And fat, but I can’t help that, and I’ve tried, I’ve really, really tried. And I’m younger than everyone else in school and the only Puerto Rican there and everyone makes fun of me for it. I get called plenty of shit all the time, so please don’t call me anything else except my name.” And Bucky, who’d had his entire life ripped from him, and his identity reduced to nothing more than _it_ , the _Asset_ or the _Winter Soldier,_ understood the importance of names, more than she would ever realize. He should have known better, but he knew better now, and he would never call her kid again, no matter how light-hearted he had intended it.

 

“What do your friends call you then?” he asked, wanting to make it up to her, wanting nothing more than to hear her huff and snark at him in her pissy little way.

 

“I don’t have any friends.” Another whisper, another knife to his heart.

 

Because oh no, _oh no_ , he knew this, had watched it happen before. She was another Stevie, another little sun, too bright, too vibrant for anyone to hold, misunderstood and discarded as a result. So they ignored or teased her because they didn’t understand, they couldn’t see, and it was easier to mock and scorn than reach out and be kind. He had fought tooth and nail for Stevie when they had been kids. And he would be damned if he would let the world try to do it again to this young woman who had so much to offer, so much to share, but was still struggling to find her way.

 

“What about Joey? Can I call you Joey?” he offered her quietly, softly, as gently as he knew how, wanting to give her the gift of a name that she could make her own if she wanted to.

 

She lifted her head sharply and glared at him. He could see her suspicion, as she searched for the logic in his words, trying to find the catch.

 

“Why Joey?” she finally asked.

 

“It’s a nickname. Friends give each other nicknames all the time,” Bucky shrugged. She kept staring at him, her eyes intense. But then she seemed to come to some conclusion of her own, because something in her relaxed, minutely, and she lifted her head even further.

 

“Like Bucky?” she finally asked, keeping her attention on his face.

 

“Yeah, like Bucky,” he laughed. “My friend Stevie gave me that one, years ago when we were kids and it stuck.”

 

“And you call him Stevie?” she asked slowly.

 

“Yeah, his name is Steven, and most people call him either that or Steve.” Bucky shrugged again. “But he’s always been Stevie to me.” She studied him for a few seconds more, before she returned her attention to the table, and the pen she had been playing with earlier.

 

“Are we friends then?” Timidity really didn’t suit her, but he supposed that this was a part of her that was honest and very few people ever got to see. He had to respect it, and let it be, let her be. Because that too was a part of friendship.

 

“I would like to be,” he told her instead. She glanced at him one more time, then back down at her pen, before she seemed to come to a decision and nodded to herself.

 

“Then Joey is okay. I can be Joey and you can be Bucky and we can be friends.”

 

And that’s exactly who and what they were to each other.

 

***

 

That was the beginning of a new shift, a change in the dynamics of his life. Joey took him at his word, and after that conversation and his gifting of her nickname, the very next day she burst into the room, her _stomp-stomp-stomp_ announcing her arrival, and joined him at the table. But instead of sitting several seats away, as she had previously, once she dropped her book bag to the floor, she sat in the chair perpendicular to its edge, directly next to him, and began to ramble at him about her day.

 

“What about your homework?” he asked when she had finally stopped to take a breath.

 

“I did most of it at lunch and then finished everything else on the bus,” she said with a wave of her hand, and then reached out and snatched one of the tostones from his plate. “And oh my god Bucky, on the bus today there was a woman who had this dog with hair dyed all the colors of the rainbow. It was kind of cool, I guess, but why would anyone do that to a dog? I mean, I don’t think the dog cares. Unless it was a gay dog, and she was trying to show pride?”

 

“What does a rainbow dog have to do with pride?” Bucky was confused.

 

“The rainbow flag, you know, gay pride,” she answered with another wave of her hand. When she turned to look at him, popping his tostone in her mouth, there must have something on his face, because she was suddenly back to scowling at him. “You’re not a homophobic asshole, are you? Because, just so you know, I like girls, not boys, and I can’t be friends with a homophobic asshole.”

 

“Girls are nice,” was all Bucky could think to say.

 

“Yes, they are, they’re very nice. And there’s this girl in my history class, Julia, and she has long curly red hair, but nice curly, not curly like mine, and she has freckles Bucky, freckles! I really, really like freckles. Do you like freckles?”

 

“Freckles are nice.” Bucky squinted at her. “And there’s nothing wrong with your hair.”

 

“It’s _frizzy,_ Bucky, and it never does anything I want it to do,” she complained.

 

“It looks like a cloud,” he told her. “Soft and fluffy. It’s pretty.” That made her stop and pause, whatever she was about to say forgotten as she stared at him, obviously trying to determine if he was lying to her. He wasn’t. He liked her hair. He thought it was adorable.

 

“And this is why we’re friends,” she finally said, swiping another tostone. “You have very pretty hair too. You should let me braid it.”

 

“Can I at least finish my food first?”

 

She exhaled long and loud, slouching back in her chair. But not before she stole yet another tostone from his plate, the _third_ one.

 

“It’s not like you haven’t been eating all day,” she said. “And seriously Bucky, why are eating your tostones like that?”

 

“What’s wrong with the way I’m eating them?”

 

“You’re dipping them in that sauce, it’s disgusting. Everybody knows that tostones go best with ketchup.”

 

“I like the sauce.”

 

“That’s because you don’t know better.” She jumped down from the chair. “I’ll be right back.”

 

Tostones were pretty good with ketchup, Bucky discovered once she had come back into the room with a red bottle clutched in her hand. He still preferred the dipping sauce of onions, garlic and vinegar. But they were even better if he mixed the two, which made Joey gag as she watched him do it, until she tried one herself and had to admit he was right. She ended up eating most of them, while she explained to Bucky the importance of gay pride and the symbolism behind the rainbow flag he had seen, as Lulu stood in the doorway and watched them both with a shocked expression on her face.

 

***

 

Joey was funny and smart, brutally honest in her opinions but curious about the world around her. She apparently had a lot to say, had had a lot to say for a very long time, but had just been waiting for someone to say it to. All piss and vinegar, he thought was the expression that had once been used. And as soon as she realized that Bucky would tease her, but never mock her, never forget how smart she was or insult her for her opinions even if he disagreed with them, Bucky found himself in the middle of some of the most random conversations he ever had.

 

“So what do you think about Attack on Titan?” was her opening riposte one day as she once again stomped into the room.

 

“I don’t even know what that is,” Bucky admitted, knowing it didn’t matter what he said, she would explain everything to him anyway.

 

“Where have you been Bucky? It’s an anime that everyone’s watching. Well that and Yuri on Ice, but I haven’t started that one yet.”

 

“Anime?” Bucky repeated. It was a Japanese word, and he let its sound roll around in his head until the meaning popped, bright and sharp into the forefront of his brain. (And apparently Japanese was another language he didn’t know he knew. Another lovely parting gift from HYDRA.) “A cartoon?”

 

“Yes Bucky, an anime, Attack on Titan. What do you think about it?”

 

“I haven’t seen it.”

 

“Ugh, here, give me your phone.” She rolled her eyes at him and held her hand out. Bucky passed his phone over, thinking it would be funny to watch her try to bypass all of the security protocols he had installed. She took it from him and swiped it on, and then stopped and stared at the screen, her expression changing. She glanced at him, at the phone, and then at him one more time, a look of intense concentration of her face, before she reached into her blazer pocket and pulled out a small flash drive, which she plugged into a side port. She waited a few seconds, tapped on the screen, and a few seconds later Bucky heard the chime of his cell unlocking. Bucky was shocked. Most of the programs he had downloaded himself, some from HYDRA, some from other sources, and he had made sure to modify them so that his phone would be unbreakable and untraceable to anyone who may have been looking for him. Except, it seemed, for one very determined and brilliant twelve-year-old girl.

 

“Hey! What are you doing?”

 

“Holy shit Bucky! Those are some serious apps you have on here.” All of her attention was now on his phone as she began to scroll through his settings and programs. “Signal enhancers, signal distorters, location disruptors, trackers and tracking codes. These are all very, very good, and there are a few I haven’t seen before. But here, if you want to make sure that no one can find you through your phone, I have an even better program. I’m transferring it now.”

 

“Where did you get it?” Bucky wanted to know. If there was a site somewhere out there with even better applications and software than he already had, he wanted to know about it.

 

“I wrote it myself,” was her response. “But don’t worry. It’s very, very good. I used it just last month to hack into the Stark servers and they never even knew I was there. And I update it every couple of weeks. We can FileDrop it the next time I do.”

 

“You were able to hack into the Stark servers?”

 

“Oh yeah, it was easy. Took me nine minutes. Tony Stark is a big pervert, by the way. You should see some of the things in his browser history. I did not need to know that there was turtle porn out there. Bleh.”

 

“Joey!”

 

“What?” she asked, looking up at him for the first time.

 

“You’re a fucking evil genius.” It wasn’t what he had intended to say, but found it was the only thing he could say as she met his gaze. At his words, she actually preened.

 

“Thank you. Now, I’ve also downloaded the first four episodes of Attack on Titan. Watch them tonight and tell me what you think about them tomorrow.”

 

***

 

It was a strange relationship, but also a very honest one. Bucky was there almost every single day, once Steve had left to check in with the Avengers, and after he had finished his own training. He would spend some time with Lulu, sometimes talking to her quietly, other times volunteering to make a variety of repairs around the house so the family wouldn’t have to call in a technician or handyman, until later in the afternoon when Joey would come bounding in once she had gotten out of school, sit next to him at the table and tell him about her day.

 

He listened to and learned her dialogue and her cultural codes, and she shared with him her favorite books, movies, video games, manga and music. They developed their own language of teasing and ribbing each other, filled with eye rolls, smirks, and giggles from Joey, their own version, sometimes PG-13, sometimes not, of giving each other shit. It was a dynamic he was used to, and he had always enjoyed being friends with people (Stevie) who were forthright, brutally honest, and stood up for what they believed. And the feeling was mutual, because she always looked for him first thing whenever she came to her grandmother’s house, bursting with over a million things to tell him, and sometimes sulking once he had gotten a text from Steve telling Bucky that he was on his way home.

 

“She’s crazy about you, you know,” Lulu told him quietly one day after Joey had stormed up the stairs once Bucky told her he had to leave. For some reason, Lulu had decided to walk with him to the end of the block, obviously wanting a word away from the prying ears of a twelve year old.

 

“She’s amazing.” And it was true, she was.

 

“No, you don’t understand Bucky.” Lulu stopped and laid a gentle hand on his arm. “Before you, she was different. Very quiet, barely saying a word to anyone.”

 

“Joey?” He found that difficult to believe; she was such a vibrant little chatterbox, with so much to say and all of it interesting as far as he was concerned.

 

“Yes, Josefina. Or Joey, as you call her.” She squeezed his arm and then did something she had never done before, sliding her hand into his own. “She’s unbelievably smart, too smart sometimes I think. And that makes it very difficult for her to make friends. She’s too intelligent for most children her age, and they don’t understand her. And most adults don’t know to respect how quickly her mind works, while still recognizing that she’s very young. She makes them uncomfortable and they don’t know what to do with that. You, you just let her be and enjoy her for who she is.” Lulu paused for a moment, before shaking her head and then tugging at him to make sure he followed along.

 

“Her mother, my youngest, Diana, she has a lot of problems Bucky, a lot.” Bucky knew there was a fourth daughter, but the family seldom spoke of her, and it seemed as if Joey spent most of her time at her grandmother’s house instead of at home. But she still left every night to catch a train to the South Bronx, where she lived in a small apartment with her mother. “And I have done everything I can, everything I could possibly think of to try and help her, but, well…Let’s just say that it’s a not good place for a young girl to be. I’ve talked to Josefina about it, trying to convince her to move here where I know she’ll be safe. But it’s her mother, and she loves her and refuses to leave, no matter what any of us say.”

 

“Is there anything I can do?” Bucky asked, feeling something in him stir, slither awake and come to life.

 

“Just what you have been. Keep being her friend. She doesn’t have any others and she desperately needs one. Listen to her, let her be honest, and help us keep her safe.”

 

“I will. I promise,” he swore.

 

“I know,” she said with another squeeze to his hand. “I just wanted to thank you. Now go home to your Stevie. And tomorrow you can tell me if he’s finally decided what color tile to use in that upstairs bathroom of yours.”

 

***

 

They were honest with each other. And after that conversation with Lulu, Bucky took even extra care in making sure that Joey knew he would always listen to her. On nights when Steve was stuck working late with his teammates, trying to track down leads or going out on missions, he started walking Joey to the train station. It was only a block and a half, but he wanted to make sure she got there safely and had an opportunity to say anything to him that she might not have felt able to when there were so many other ears and eyes around them. Sometimes they took the long way around, and sometimes they stopped for a soda and sat on the steps of the nearest townhouse and chatted like they usually did.

 

But it worked. Joey adapted quickly to his quieter nature, and became almost as good as Steve in reading Bucky’s intricate cues. She knew when to fill the silence and when to just sit quietly with him and look up at the stars.

 

She also began to tell him things that he knew she wasn’t telling anyone else. How she worried about her mother, and how sometimes it felt like her stomach always hurt because of that fear. How she knew she could come and live with her Abuela, but she didn’t want to leave her mother, because then her mother wouldn’t have anyone else and she would be all alone. It was a lot of pressure for a twelve-year-old girl who was slowly beginning her transformation into womanhood. Bucky always sat and listened and let her share her fear, without judgement or reprimand, hoping that his words and his presence, as much as he could give of himself in those still relatively early days of his recovery, were enough to help her find her way.

 

Until one day she burst into the little alcove while he was eating arroz con pollo as he waited for her, threw herself into his arms and burst into tears. It wasn’t horrible, not yet, and no permanent damage had been done. But it was more than enough.

 

The very next day, he took Steve’s SUV and drove with both Lulu and Joey to the South Bronx, and two hours later moved her permanently into her grandmother’s house.

 

The day after that, Bucky deliberately pulled as much of the Asset as he could around himself, while still keeping his own awareness, and drove back to the Bronx.

 

He didn’t kill anyone. But he did make sure that Joey’s stomach would never, ever hurt her out of fear again.

 

***

 

They became even closer after that. Some may have thought their relationship strange, but she was Joey and he was Bucky and that was all they needed to be.

 

“You’re my best friend Bucky,” she told him not too long after she had finally moved into the extra bedroom in Lulu’s apartment, reaching out with her small hand and taking his metal one in her own.

 

“And you’re mine Joey,” he answered, giving her a gentle squeeze. It was true, she was. Stevie was his Stevie; he always was and he always would be. There were no words that could even begin to encapsulate how deep and powerful their bond was. It was beyond all of that, beyond even time, Bucky was beginning to believe. Nothing ever would or could come between them.

 

But this, _this_ was also important and special and sacred too. This friendship with this extremely intelligent but very young woman, who had never known who he had once been, but accepted him as he was now.

 

He was just as honest with her as she was with him, and as time passed he shared as much of himself as he did with Lulu, as honest as he could be without being too graphic, but letting her know he trusted her enough as a friend to help her share his burdens as he had shared hers.

 

So just like Lulu, she too knew about the house and Stevie, and the way Steve could frustrate the fuck out of him sometimes with his bullheadedness. But she also knew that he had been a soldier, who had been captured and had horrible things done to him, who suffered from nightmares and had his own struggles. Just like with Lulu, he never gave her any details, but he wanted to her to understand why sometimes he didn’t feel like talking or had to disappear for days at a time, and for her not be hurt by it or take it personally.

 

Joey was smart, just like Steve. But just like Steve, she was compassionate and kind hearted and sensitive to the needs of those around her. And she had an innocence that gave her a clarity of perspective that so many adults had lost due to the trials of their lives.

 

After he told her that he had been tortured, saying no more than that, she asked if there any lasting effects. They were upstairs in Lulu’s kitchen, so Bucky pulled off his glove and sweatshirt, so that he was wearing nothing more than a t-shirt and showed her his arm.

 

“Oh my god! You really are a robot!” she laughed. Bucky found himself smiling, and let her look at his left arm, even shifting the plates while she stared at it with wide eyes. She was quiet, and didn’t ask to poke or prod at it, even though he knew it would fascinate her.

 

She stared at it intently for a few moments, before she lifted her eyes to his face, and asked, in a very soft voice, “Does it hurt?”

 

Bucky then did something that he had never done before, and lifted the sleeve of his t-shirt so that she could see the horrid and disgusting ring of brutal scarring where the arm was attached to his shoulder.

 

“It always hurts Joey, all the time. But only at my shoulder where it’s attached.”

 

She reached out and with a very gentle touch, carefully ran her tiny fingertips over the scars.

 

“All the time? And nothing makes it better?”

 

“Well, Stevie found me these adhesive heating pads, and if I sleep with one of them on it helps. But it still hurts.” He reached up with his right hand and pulled hers away from his shoulder. “But you can’t tell anyone about this Joey. Ever. The people who did this to me, they’re still out there. And if they find out where I am, they’ll come looking for me. So you have to promise me that you won’t – “

 

“No, no Bucky. I promise you, I promise. I will never tell anyone.” She slipped her hand from his, and then reached for his shoulder again, not to touch, but only to straighten the sleeve of his t-shirt so that his shoulder with its red star and loathed scarring was once again hidden from view. She leaned in, kissed his cheek, turned around and asked him if he wanted to watch the latest episode of Tokyo Ghoul.

 

Two days later when he stopped by for lunch, she handed him a stack of papers with stretches and strengthening exercises, designed to help relieve pain for someone who had suffered a shoulder injury.

 

So yeah, they were friends. Bucky even now had the second chain he wore around his neck, from which dangled a small moon that had the word BEST imprinted on it. She had given it to him after he had come back this last time, gone to her grandmother’s house and then sat on the couch while she cursed and cried at him for abandoning her for so long when he was her “Best friend! And best friends don’t do that to each other! You don’t just leave like that Bucky, you don’t!” Bucky spent thirty minutes making to her the same promises he had made Stevie; that it was the last time, and he swore to her, he swore that he would never, ever leave again.

 

A week later, once she had finally stopped scowling at him whenever he showed up, she presented him with a small box, a belated Christmas gift. Inside were a paired set of charms. He wore the moon.

 

Around her throat, hanging from a delicate silver chain he had picked out for her, she wore a matching red star that bore the word FRIEND.

 

***

 

And then there was Dewy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I received so many comments about the food with the previous chapter, I wanted to shared a couple of links, in case anyone was curious and wanted to know more. Because seriously, Puerto Rican food is AMAZING.
> 
> https://spoonuniversity.com/lifestyle/19-puerto-rican-foods-eat-before-you-die
> 
> https://matadornetwork.com/read/23-puerto-rican-foods-rest-world-know-love/
> 
> And Bucky is seriously thrilled that so many people are now fans of Puerto Rican food. But he also wants me to let you know that you better stay away from his chuletas. He loves you all, but a man's got to have his limits, and chuletas are Bucky's. **wink**


	6. Family - Dewy

The day he met Joey, after she left with another one of her little huffs and a furious glare in Bucky’s direction, _she_ came waltzing into the room with proud, confident steps, the _click-click-click_ of her heels on the floor announcing her arrival.

 

Bucky looked up from the remains of his food to see yet another short (and what was it with the women in this family, they were all so _tiny_ ), full figured woman, with a round face (another trait all the Rodriguez women seemed to share), and long, loosely curled dark brown hair with blonde streaks approaching his table. She was wearing a tight pair of faded jeans, a flowing yellow camisole that reached just below her hips, that swayed as she walked, and a pair of the brightest and highest red high heels he had ever seen anyone wear. The tops of her eyelids were lined with kohl and she had painted her lips a red to match her shoes. She was pretty and sweet looking, appearing somewhere in her mid to late thirties. Yet Bucky was coming to learn that beneath all their softness, these women held within them cores of steel, similar in their way to Peggy Carter, but perhaps even stronger because their swords and shields were better hidden.

 

He was not proven wrong as she strode over to the table as if she did this every day, as if they were not strangers to each other, deposited one of the two bottles of Coco Rico she held in her hand in front of him, pulled out the chair and sat down next to him.

 

“So.” Her voice was surprisingly low for a woman of her size, but strong and whiskey kissed. “You’re the one my mother and my youngest keep talking about. And you’ve just met our Josefina. I figured it’s my turn.” She held out her hand, her nails painted the same red as her lips and shoes, and smiled a smile filled with mischief and conspiracy. “Hello Bucky. My name is Dorcas. It’s nice to meet you.”

 

***

 

Dorcas was different from her mother and her niece. Lulu was all calm, deep waters, determination and hidden strength. Joey was hissing, spitting fire surrounding a core that was soft and fragile, and in desperate need of protection. But Dorcas simply was who she was. There were no hidden levels to her, no secrets she was concealing. She carried herself with a confidence and ease that was soothing and surprisingly relaxing to be around. You either took her as she was, and if you didn’t she would simply turn and walk away, leaving you as you had been; no hard feelings, but without even a glance back.

 

That wasn’t to say she wasn’t intelligent or complex. She simply didn’t feel the need to hide or contort the _who_ of herself to fit anyone else’s preconceived notions. She had three daughters of her own, from three different fathers, none of whom she had married. Two of them were already in college, and her youngest, Magdalena, would be following them in less than two years. She had raised them well, with the help of her family, and ran a small but very successful accounting business which handled the finances and book keeping for a large percentage of the smaller businesses in the community, and she was proud of all she had achieved.

 

And to Bucky, she was yet another wonderful surprise.

 

That first day, she sat with him for a while, not hiding her curiosity as she asked him about the house, how he was doing, and what did he think of Sunset Park now that he had returned. He had stared at her, not sure what it was she wanted from him. She merely smiled at his blinks, sipping from her own green bottle of soda, and continued to ask her questions.

 

“Yes Bucky, I know I’m nosy, but you’ll get used to it,” she laughed. “And don’t worry. We like to gossip in this family, but I promise you, we also know how to keep our secrets as well. We protect our own.” She then reached out and placed her hand over his, touching him if this was something they had always done, when he had never met her before. “Now,” she leaned forward, staring into his eyes with that mix of mischief and conspiracy. “Did you hear about Roberto over on 49th Street. Him and his wife Miranda have been married for over twenty-two years. But I just heard from Lisa on 47th, that she left him for a younger man, a friend of her son’s from college, and the two of them have gone to India to build houses or raise cows or some shit like that. Can you believe it?”

 

“Uh…What?”

 

***

 

Dorcas started to come see him during each of his daily visits as well. Usually after he had spent some time with Lulu, and before Joey’s thunderous _stomp-stomp-stomp_ announced her arrival.

 

“I better go before she gets here, or she’ll yell at me for stealing you away, and then threaten to hack into my bank account and subscribe me to a bunch of gay porn sites. She’ll do it too, but she doesn’t know I already have subscriptions to all of the good ones anyway.” She rose from the table and leaned over to place a kiss to his cheek.

 

“What?”

 

“Speaking of which, I have to tell you about how apparently Suzanna’s father was using all of the money from her parents’ retirement fund to pay for the trips for his mistress, who lives all the way in Queens by the way, to go to Vegas. Remind me tomorrow and I’ll tell you everything.”

 

“ _What?_ ”

 

***

 

And just like with Lulu, and just like with Joey, they fell into their own rhythm. As they first started their dance of friendship, Bucky thought of Dorcas as a resource. He had always cultivated information networks, collectives of information that could warn him of any changing circumstances or shifting tides in his environment, so he could be prepared for anything that was to come. In this new phase of his life, that was even more essential to his survival than ever before. And no one seemed to have a better sense of the pulse points of what was happening in Sunset Park than Dorcas. So she became a resource, and a valuable one at that.

 

But…

 

But…

 

She was also just so easy to be with. He didn’t have to be on constant alert, always sensitive to even the slightest cues to indicate something was wrong, like he did with both Joey and Stevie. And if he was having a bad day and didn’t feel like talking, he didn’t have to worry about how his moods or reactions were going to affect those around him, or try to justify how sometimes even their concern was too much for him to sometimes bear, as he did with her mother or once again Stevie. He could just be with her, without any explanation or expectation.

 

If she saw he was in one of his darker moods, she would still come in and sit, and give him her daily gossip updates. There was something very soothing about that; knowing that he could let go of that responsibility and someone else was out there, doing what needed to be done and keeping their watchful eye on the area.

 

And if the moods were really bad, and it took everything in him to just sit there and hold himself still so that he didn’t shake himself into a million pieces, she would take one look at him, turn around and come back a few minutes later with a Coco Rico and a big, soft scarf. She would carefully drape it over his shoulders, running her fingers ever so gently through his hair, before she stepped back, sat down and pulled out her phone to read something, while she hummed softly to herself, letting but not leaving him alone.

 

She was kind and she was generous, and she never, ever once pressured him for more.

 

So he reached out, reached for that kindness and generosity, to wrap it around himself like she had wrapped her scarf around his shoulders, and was surprised to find that what she had given to him, he could just as easily return.

 

And once he started to share with her all the tidbits and information he had of the members of their community, they became as thick as thieves.

 

“So you’re not going to believe what I just found out,” he said to her as she came waltzing into the little alcove with her two bottles of Coco Rica once Lulu had left.

 

“What?” Her eyes were wide and excited as she sat down next to him. “You have to tell me Bucky, you have to.”

 

“So I was talking to Mr. Yuen up on Seventh, and he told me that Xiao’s wife just left him.”

 

“The one who runs the laundromat over on Ninth?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Well, get a load of this. Apparently, she found a bunch of boxes in the basement filled with all kinds of underwear, none of it hers.”

 

“No!”

 

“Yes. And it wasn’t just women’s but men’s too.”

 

“No!”

 

“It gets even better.”

 

“What? What? What?”

 

“They weren’t even clean.”

 

“Seriously?”

 

“Yep. And it wasn’t that they were just unwashed. Supposedly he was using them to help himself out.” Bucky made a jacking off motion with the last phrase to make sure she understood exactly what he was saying.

 

“He was wanking with them?”

 

“Apparently.”

 

“Ew!” She made a face, but she was laughing as she said it.

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“You know,” she paused to take a sip of her soda. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy in my life that we have our own washer and dryer here.”

 

“You’re telling me.”

 

“I mean seriously Bucky; the man is like eighty years old. How the hell is he even getting it up like that?”

 

“Never underestimate the power of a dirty pair of panties I guess.”

 

“Or boxer shorts.”

 

Bucky grunted and went back to the pollo con cerveza that Lulu had made for him.

 

“I mean seriously. Dirty ones? Those would still have shit stains on them. What the hell is wrong with people?”

 

Bucky was still choking on his food when Joey showed up fifteen minutes later.

 

***

 

That was another thing about Dorcas. She had the filthiest mouth of anyone Bucky had ever met. Bucky had grown up on the streets of Brooklyn, where crudeness was its own currency, and being able to use fuck creatively was considered a crowning achievement. And he had been a solider back in the war, and the Howlies had been rough, crass and inventive in the way they could use language. He and Stevie cursed each other out all the time; it was fun for them, a game of banter and back and forth they had always shared.

 

But Dorcas could use a turn of phrase that would have made even a sailor blush. She had no shame what-so-ever, and was an inventive in English as she was in Spanish. She liked crude words, and she liked sex, and she saw no reason why she shouldn’t be able to use the former and talk about the latter.

 

And Bucky _had_ grown up in the streets of Brooklyn _and_ been a soldier. He had also quickly come to realize that the times had changed since he had been a young man. Women were now allowed to talk about sex, seek it out and admit they liked it. He knew they always had, but they possessed a freedom now that had not been acceptable in the forties, and he definitely thought it was a vast improvement over the way things had been. It wasn’t perfect, but it was so much better than the days when Peggy and Steve had to sneak off together to share stolen moments of intimacy, where if the true nature of their relationship had been discovered, Steve would have gotten a slap on the back, and Peggy nothing but derision and shame from those she worked with.

 

Bucky also discovered that after everything he had lived through, everything that HYDRA had done to him, as long as people were not hurting anybody else, they should have their own freedom and the right to their own choices, and fuck whatever anyone else might have thought. Joey was a lesbian, he didn’t know what the hell he was anymore or if he would ever be anything to anyone ever again, and Dorcas enjoyed looking at good-looking men and talking about sex. It was what it was, they were who they were, and everyone else could go to hell if they had something to say about it.

 

Once Dorcas realized that Bucky did not care about what she said, did, or who she did it with, she relaxed even further in his presence, if that were possible, and all bets were off. They shared a very similar and crude sense of humor, and could spend hours making each other laugh, when Bucky was in a good mood, telling each other dirty jokes and sharing ribald commentary on any music, movies or television shows they were both interested in. Lulu would roll her eyes at the both of them, but she was known to tell a dirty joke herself. And wise woman that she was, she also knew who her children were, and accepted them as they were without any judgement.

 

And Dorcas, Dorcas…Bucky liked her. He loved her, he knew that he did. It wasn’t filled with passion, or heat, or an unfulfilled sexual desire. He just really, really _liked_ her, the way he also liked Stevie, in the way that was crucial for all of the best relationships. He didn’t just consider her a friend, he one day realized several months after she had first walked into his life. It was more like she was his… _sister_. A bond like the ones he knew he once had, but still couldn’t remember; deep and true, a solidarity of spirit strengthened by their differences. He adored her and would do almost anything for her, just like he would for Lulu, Joey and Stevie, always, always Stevie. An unexpected gift that had been given to him, to be treasured and appreciated and welcomed into his life for the joy it was. And just like Stevie, just like Joey, he ended up giving her a name of his own.

 

“So,” she said, waltzing into the little alcove like she always did, carrying the two bottles of coconut soda that had become part of their ritual. “Our little Josefina is now your Joey.”

 

“She seems to like it.” He smiled back at her, already reaching for the Coco Rico she held out to him. “And it fits her, I think.” It had been a good day, a great day, and he was feeling calm and settled within himself.

 

“She doesn’t just like it. She loves it,” she said as she sat herself down. “But she made it very, very clear that only you can call her that, you know. That’s _your_ name for her. She’s Joey and you’re Bucky.”

 

“Jealous?” he asked her with a wink.

 

“Hmm, maybe a little. No one has ever given me a nickname of my own before, unless it was Culona or Mamacita.”

 

He looked at her then, saw the way that she was both joking but serious, and could see in her something just a little bit like he had seen in Joey. He tilted his head, and thought for a moment, carefully considering, before he made a decision.

 

“You can be my Dewy,” he said quietly.

 

“Dewy?” she laughed. “Why Dewy?”

 

“Nothing prettier in the world than the morning dew,” he heard himself putting into words the thoughts that had sparked his reasoning. “It catches the sunlight and holds it just for a second, before it gives it back. You’ve got the same glow and you’ve given some of that back to me. It suits you, I think.”

 

She sat there, silent for once, just blinking at him. And then, after a long, still moment, she smiled at him, soft and warm.

 

“So have you.”

 

***

 

It was a gift to her, and a small one at that. But it wasn’t enough, it would never be enough. Because not too long after that, Dewy ended up giving him one of the greatest treasures of his life.

 

***

 

It was during the first week of October, when Bucky had been back in Brooklyn for a little over three weeks. He and Stevie had begun running together again, and things were finally starting to settle. Bucky had resumed his daily visits to Casita Pepe, and after apologizing to Lulu and spending over an hour trying to get Joey to smile at him before she finally gave in and hugged him tightly, his life was once again his life.  The restorations on the house were going well, and it felt as if the dynamic between him and Steve had once more shifted, growing even stronger than before. Bad times and good times, setbacks and achievements, losses and gains. Turning points and choices, so many goddamned turning points and choices that seemed so inconsequential at first, but ended up having long lasting ramifications that no one was able to predict.

 

He was thinking over all of it, as he made his way through the chuletas Lulu had made for him, going slowly, trying to savor every bite, when Dewy walked in, carrying her usual offering of Coco Rico and a bag of chocolate chip cookies.  She put one in front of him, next to his half-finished bottle of Malta, pulled out a chair and sat down next to him with a sigh. But this time she did something different. She kicked off her heels, blue this time, leaned back, and propped her feet up in his lap underneath the table.

 

“Hey,” he said cautiously, watching as she opened the bag of cookies and popped one into her mouth.

 

“Hey,” she answered around a mouthful of chocolate.

 

“Everything okay?”

 

“Yes,” she sighed, reaching for another cookie. “Sorry ‘bout that. But my feet are killing me today.”

 

He looked down at her feet, seeing the bright yellow polish of her toenails and noticed that her feet, as well as her ankles, were swollen.

 

“Is everything okay?” he asked again, suddenly worried. “Are you sick?” And _no, no, no,_ she couldn’t be sick, she couldn’t be. She was his sister, and he couldn’t lose her, not after he had just found her.

 

There must have been something on his face, something that let her know how worried he suddenly was, because she quickly shook her head.

 

“No Bucky no, don’t worry. Everything’s all right. I’m not sick,” she told him.

 

“Are you sure? Do we need to get you to a doctor?” Bucky hated doctors, he _hated_ them. But he would swallow his fear, his absolute dread at ever willingly going to see one, if it meant she would be all right.

 

“Bucky, I’m pregnant.”

 

Oh. Oh. That was all right then.

 

_What?_

 

“What?”

 

“Pregnant, Bucky. Three months. That’s why my feet are swollen,” she laughed again, and then shoved another cookie into her mouth. “And why I can’t stop eating. Haven’t you noticed I’ve been gaining weight?” He had, but he didn’t think much of it. She was beautiful to him, just like all of the Rodriguez women were beautiful to him, no matter what they looked like.

 

“Uh…”

 

“You just thought I was getting fat, didn’t you?” Another laugh, another cookie.

 

“You’re beautiful,” he blurted truthfully.

 

“I know you think so.” One more cookie. “But now I am beautiful and pregnant.”

 

“When are you due?” His brain had finally clicked back into gear, and he could feel the wave coming, not of memories or screams in the night, but questions, so many questions.

 

“The middle of April. A little girl, I think.”

 

Oh, _oh._ Another girl, another beautiful woman to add to this already amazing family of them.

 

“And the father?” he cautiously ventured. She hadn’t told him she was seeing anyone, that there was someone in her life. “Is it the moose?”

 

“No, it is not the moose,” she laughed again. “And thank god for that. He had the biggest dick I’d ever seen, but also the biggest nose. I would hate to think what would happen if I had to give birth to a baby with that big of a nose.” But then she sighed and shoved two more cookies into her mouth this time. “And he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to have anything to do with us.”

 

“ _What?_ ” And there was his rage, rising, bubbling, scorching through his veins like lava. What kind of man would just abandon their own? What kind of man could look at Dewy and her family and not want to be a part of that?

 

“It’s okay Bucky, it is,” she told him, even though it was obviously not. “I have raised all of my children on my own and done a damned good job at it, if I do say so myself. And I have my family here to help me. This little girl will know she’s loved. A surprise, yes, but a good one.”

 

“The best,” Bucky murmured, looking at her feet. There was something there at the back of his mind, not so much a memory, but an impression, a whisper, telling him what to do. He reached down, and with a touch that was both steady and gentle, began to rub her feet. It would ease her pain, he knew, even if he didn’t know how he knew that. She hummed softly at his touch, a tiny, little encouragement that let him know he had been correct, that he was helping, and then went quiet.

 

When he looked up at her, wanting to see if he was doing it right, he found her staring at him, something intense and knowing in her gaze.

 

“But this time, I think she will have you as well,” she said to him in that way of hers, full of confidence and certainty. “And that will make it even better.”

 

She fell quiet after that, and there no words Bucky could say in exchange for what she had just offered him. So he said nothing, and went back to rubbing her feet. As they sat there in the stillness of the afternoon, Bucky let his senses expand, opening himself up to them willingly, instead of trying to pull back from them so that they wouldn’t overwhelm him. He cocked his head to the side and let himself listen, let himself hear.

 

And there, _there_ it was. The sound of Dewy’s heartbeat, soft and steady. But next to it, just beneath, another heartbeat, faster, but just as soft and just as steady. And for the first time he thought that maybe, just maybe, he could be thankful for what HYDRA had done to him, if it gave him this.

 

“Yes,” he said, as he continued to rub her feet. “Yes.”

 

***

 

The weeks passed, and they started spending even more time together, Bucky watching as her body shifted, changed, bloomed, and felt something in him do exactly the same. She was a strong woman and fiercely independent. Bucky had spent his entire life, the periods of it when he had been allowed to make his own choices, drawn to people exactly like her, determined, bold and so goddamned strong (Stevie). But because he had spent so much of his life, his time, with his focus tuned to people like her, he also knew how they needed their own safe harbors, places of softness and stability, where they could nest and recharge their resources. He could give that to her, give her a keep that was steady and secure, where she could rest, let go and allow herself to just be while someone else cared for her.

 

So he sat, and listened, and let her complain about her day, her body, the difficult clients she was dealing with, sharing their bottles of Coco Rice while she kicked off her shoes and propped her feet up in his lap. He always rubbed them and her ankles, steady and sure, hoping it was helping, that she knew he was safe and would aid her in any way she needed, and that even though she had a family of amazing women to help her, he was there for her too, in any way she wanted.

 

She was handling it well, from what he could see. There were some aches and pains, complaints about how her clothes no longer fit, and her never ending cravings for chocolate chip cookies, but she had been pregnant before, and knew what to expect.

 

Throughout it all, she remained Dewy. Vibrant, bright, forthright, curious, and eager to share any and all of the gossip she had heard. Her biggest complaint was the fact that she could no longer wear the spikey high heels that she so loved, and had to resort to sneakers and ballet flats.

 

“Yeah well, those are what got you into this situation in the first place. Maybe give it a rest for a few more months, huh?” Bucky said to her one day in the second week of November, as they sat in the little alcove in Casita Pepe, Bucky rubbing her feet while she worked her way through a second bag of cookies.

 

“What got me into this situation was being able to hook my ankles over his shoulders Bucky, and by that point, I couldn’t have given less of a fuck about where my shoes were. I think one was in the shower, and I found the other one in the microwave the next morning,” she told him, munching on another cookie.

 

“Which ones?”

 

“The black ones, with the zippers and straps.”

 

“Oh yeah, those are nice. I like those.” He was using both of his hands now, circling his fingers over her ankles and up along her lower calves, his food for once forgotten.

 

“Those are _great_ shoes. I got them on sale at Sweet-ah!” She stopped with a soft little cry, jerking suddenly.

 

“What? What is it? Is everything all right?” Bucky asked, pausing in his movements so that he could turn all of his attention to her. Her eyes were wide, but she didn’t look to be in pain. In fact, she was smiling of all things.

 

“No Bucky, don’t worry. Everything’s all right.” Her smile grew even wider. “She just surprised me, that’s all.”

 

“What?”

 

“Here.” She reached out for him. “Give me your hand.” She took his outstretched hand into both of her own, and then slowly, gently, ever so carefully, placed it to the left side of her lower belly and held it there. One second, two, three, and then…

 

“Oh!” Bucky jerked back, pulling his hand away in surprise. But she kept both of hers over his, his hand against her stomach with a warm, steady certainty. There, beneath his fingers, he felt it, a ripple, a tiny movement, but strong, so strong. Her unborn baby, kicking against the palm of his hand. Once, twice, and then again.

 

_Oh._

 

“Oh,” he whispered. If anyone else had been there in the room with them, they would have heard all of the awe and wonder in his voice, shivering and silver like the fluttering of an angel’s wings. But it was just the two of them, sitting together in the quiet, a shared feast of miracles between them.

 

Without thinking, Bucky reached out with his left hand, wanting to feel more, to get a better sense. But just like his voice, when it caught the light, it shivered and fluttered like silver, but with metal this time instead of miracles. He went to pull away.

 

But she was another miracle, even more so than the one she was carrying, and she saw what he had been doing, what must have crossed his face. She reached out, once more with both of her hands, and took his metal one into her own, guiding it back to her belly.

 

“Don’t worry Bucky, it’s okay,” she assured him as she pressed his fingers of metal and alloy against her skin. “You can feel her with that one too. We all know you have a metal hand and we’re used to it by now.” She kept her fingers warm and firm over his own. “She’s going to have to get used to it too, because I think she’s going to end up spending a lot of time in your arms. So let’s get her started now, so she’ll know who you are when she’s finally ready to come into the world.”

 

Bucky sat there, his hands held steady on Dewy’s belly, feeling the baby kick back against his touch. And as he did, he felt something in him uncurl and start to both growl and croon. It wasn’t the Asset, or not what the Asset had been. They were fused now and there was no longer any separation between the two of them; there hadn’t been since that night when he had remembered his first kill, both of them. Except for every once in a while, something in him shifted, stirred, ever so slight, and he knew that all of the parts of himself, even the darkest ones, were awake and focused, studying, watching, paying careful attention to their surroundings, adding their weight to whatever choice Bucky was going to make next. And in this, they were all in absolute agreement.

 

This was a gift. Something precious. Something to be treasured. And he would do everything in his power to keep it safe, protect it from any and all harm.

 

There was another kick, another little thrum against his palm, the left one this time. Dewy jerked again, and then laughed.

 

“Well,” she said, leaning back in her chair, but making sure to keep Bucky’s hands where they were. “She’s dancing right now. She’s never done that before. I think she must really like you already.”

 

The feeling was more than mutual.

 

***

 

It was also Dewy who was the first one who took him at his word and believed him, when he finally walked back through the doors of Casita Pepe that day in middle of February, and swore to this family, these women, that he was back this time, and back for good.

 

Lulu had taken his hands in hers, and held them, staring intently at his face, searching for the truth. There was no judgement, no pressure, but he could see it there, in the deep, dark almost black of her eyes, all of the worry and concern she had felt for him during his absence. They would talk, he would sit and share with her even more of his truths, but there wasn’t time for that, not just yet.

 

Joey had seen him, and right in the middle of the restaurant called him an asshole, before she stormed away. Half a minute later there was the sound of her bedroom door slamming, hard enough that not just Bucky with his enhanced senses could hear it.

 

Dewy simply strode into the little back alcove, or well, more waddled than walked, took one look at him, as he stood there with his hands in Lulu’s and grinned.

 

“Well,” she said archly, wobbling her way toward him. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

 

“Oh my god, look at you,” Bucky said softly, letting go of Lulu’s hands so that he could turn and face her. “You’re huge.”

 

“Yes, I know.” But her arms were already open, reaching for his shoulders, ready to pull him in.

 

“But you’re still beautiful,” he whispered into her hair as he bent down to return her embrace.

 

“And you are a sight for sore eyes. Welcome back, Bucky,” she whispered in return.

 

***

 

Once they had finally been able to part, Lulu told him to sit because she was going to make him some mofongo and Bustelo.  He was ordered to stay right there and wait for her, because they were going to have a talk, oh yes they were. Dewy sat next to him, kicked off her shoes, and as usual, and to Bucky’s eternal gratefulness, propped her feet up in his lap. Bucky immediately started to give her his usual massage, so thankful she was letting him, despite being absent for so many weeks.

 

“So, you’re back? For good this time?” she asked, as she sipped from her Coco Rico.

 

“Yeah Dewy, it’s for good this time,” he said as he ran his fingers and palms over her feet and then her ankles.

 

“And what makes this time any different than all of the last ones?” No judgement. There was never any judgement or accusation from her, just an honest curiosity that demanded an honest answer in return.

 

“Because I promised Stevie,” he told her, circling his fingers over her lateral malleolus. “Because I promised your mother. And because I’m going to make the same promise to Joey, if she ever speaks to me again.”

 

“Ah, don’t worry about. She will. She’s a thirteen-year-old girl Bucky. All hormones and raging emotions.” Dewy waved her hand dismissively in the air. “She was worried, and scared you weren’t coming back, especially after what happened last night in Washington Heights. But she’ll get over it, you’ll see.”

 

“I hope so,” he murmured with a shrug. He looked down at her feet, heavy and swollen in his hands. But the toenails were painted a bright red, with tiny white dots, that mimicked the pattern of a strawberry. When he realized this, he found himself smiling. But only for a moment, before he stopped, and his hands ceased moving so that he could look up at her, at her even rounder than usual face, and into her eyes.

 

“And because I promised me,” he said, simply, plainly, with all of the truths he had ever been, and all of the truths he was ever going to be. “I can’t keep doing this to Stevie, and I can’t keep doing this to you and your family. But most of all, I can’t keep doing this to me. This is where I belong. I need to remember that and start acting like it.” He shrugged again and went back to working on her feet. She sat there quietly, letting him, and he could feel her gaze as she studied him and compared his words to what she was seeing.

 

“It’s about time,” she finally said, her words just as soft, but just as honest as his had been. “Welcome home Bucky, we’ve been waiting for you.”

 

***

 

The day after he and Stevie had driven up to Rochester to retrieve the rest of his things, he came back. Then the day after that and the day after that. Joey eventually forgave him, and Lulu stopped looking him over in concern every time he walked through her door. And Dewy? Well, Dewy was Dewy, and she was eight months pregnant and Bucky took to making sure she was safe and had everything she could possibly need.

 

Every day while Steve was visiting his teammates, Bucky went to Casita Pepe and sat with her, rubbing her feet and catching up on all of the goings on he had missed while he had been away. As she got even bigger and slower in her movements the closer she came to her due date, Bucky started insisting on accompanying her whenever she had to run an errand, but especially when she needed to head to the bank in order to drop off the biweekly cash deposits from her clientele. The pregnancy was going well, and she was beautiful with it. But she was carrying a lot of money, and Bucky was going to make sure that no one took advantage of her when she wasn’t at her quickest. She huffed at him, sounding a bit more like Joey than she would have probably liked, but let him join her. And then she did it again when Bucky started accompanying her whenever she went shopping or needed to pick something up for the nursery (that Bucky had painted for her, a cheerful, happy yellow with blue stars and pink clouds), even going so far as to smack him in the arm when without a word, he lifted up the two bags of groceries she had just purchased.

 

“You do know that I’m pregnant, not helpless, right?” she asked as he followed her out through the automatic doors.

 

“Yeah I know.”

 

“And I have done this before.”

 

“Yeah I know.”

 

“And I can carry my own damned groceries.”

 

“You’re also the most stubborn person I’ve ever met, and I live with Stevie.”

 

“Yes well, do you carry everything for Stevie too?”

 

“No. He eats too much. The bags would be too heavy.”

 

“Bucky!” she snapped at him, but there it was, what had been looking for, a bit of a laugh and a crinkling at the corner of her eyes.

 

“Dewy,” he said to her, gently, knowing her pride was pricked and her body uncomfortable. “You’re eight and a half months pregnant and you waddle like a duck.”

 

“Hey!”

 

“Let me do this,” he went on, softening his tone even further. “You shouldn’t be trying to carry anything too heavy. And I gotta metal arm.” He winked at her. “It’s easy enough for me. Let me do this for you. Please?” She ran her hands over her lower back and then sighed.

 

“Yes, yes, all right. You’re right,” she said, stepping up to him and slipping her own arm through his metal one. “And I’m sorry about that. I’m just tired of being pregnant.”

 

“Been a while,” he agreed, slowing his pace so that it matched hers.

 

“No fucking kidding,” she mumbled. “I just really need to get laid. Seriously.”

 

“Soon.”

 

“Not soon enough. I swear to god Bucky, if this kid doesn’t pop out soon, I’m going to rip off all of my clothes and start running naked through the park, yelling ‘ _Come and get it!_ ’”

 

“Well, you wouldn’t be that hard to catch, that’s for sure,” he said, pausing at the curb to wait for the light to change.

 

“You’re such an asshole Bucky!” she snapped at him.

 

“And you’re still gorgeous… _Ducky_.”

 

“I swear to god, once I have this baby, I’m going to beat you to death with my shoes. The leopard print ones, with the little black bows.”

 

“I like those.”

 

“So do I. I just wish I could see my feet. I don’t even know if my shoes match.”

 

Bucky looked down. “Uh…”

 

“Goddammit!”

 

“You’re still gorgeous.”

 

“And I’m still mad at you.”

 

“Want to stop for some ice cream?”

 

“Yes please. And a new pair of shoes.”

 

“Whatever you want Ducky.”

 

“Asshole.”

 

“Yeah, I know.”

 

***

 

 _From your mouth to God’s ear_ was an expression that Bucky often heard, but had never used himself. But it seemed as if it was correct, and that Dewy was going to get her wish. Because not too long after that, Dewy had her baby. And of course, ended up dragging Bucky along with her and right into the delivery room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky said if I left you all of you hanging like that with that cliffhanger, he was going to kick me to death. So, because you've all been so amazing with your comments, because some of us have been having a really rough week, and simply because it's Friday, so why not, I'm posting the next chapter right now. =) =) =)


	7. Family - Nina

It was a Friday during the last week of March, and he and Dewy were walking together down the street, her arm through his as they made their way along Fifth Avenue, Bucky keeping his pace slow so she could waddle by his side. Stevie was away ( _yet again_ ) for another week-end visit to Wilson. Apparently, there was a fund-raising event for his VA center, and Steve had agreed to appear with the hope that his words and presence would result in an increase of donations. It was a good cause and a valid reason, but Bucky still had had to fight very hard not to roll his eyes at Stevie. Steve had been a bit, just a bit, nervous around him ever since their conversation that day in his studio when Bucky had asked him if they had ever been anything more to each other. It had settled somewhat, but Bucky wondered if Steve thought he hadn’t noticed how all of a sudden he was starting to spend a lot more of his time training with the Avengers or visiting Wilson. Bucky knew that if this kept up, he was going to have to speak to Stevie about it. It wasn’t as if he was going to sneak into Steve’s room in the middle of the night and start humping his leg. He may have thought about it (and okay, he may have thought about it _a lot_ now that _that_ part of his body had finally woken up, because _seriously_ , the thighs on that man), but Bucky knew Steve didn’t think of him that way.  Bucky wanted to make sure that Steve understood he had no intentions of ever violating Steve’s trust or asking for anything more when Steve had already given so much to him already. It was enough. It would have to be, and Bucky wanted to make sure that Steve knew that. Besides, Bucky already had so many things going on in his life at the moment, and there were other, even more important conversations they were eventually going to have to have. So instead, Bucky had waved him off with a smile and then headed over to 54th Street to spend some time with his family, one of whom now had her arm draped over his metal one as she trundled by his side, sharing with him, as she always did, her daily gossip update.

 

This time it involved one of her neighbors from across the street, a man in his fifties named Gus who had been through five wives, each one younger than the last. Except this time, it appeared as if he had gotten involved with an older woman instead, and was more madly in love than he had ever been. Or maybe love wasn’t the right word, at least according to Dewy.

 

“Seriously Bucky, I could see them from my window the other night. She had him on his hands and knees, and was whipping his ass with a riding crop. I don’t care what anyone does, but can you please close your curtains, because I do not need to see your seventy-year-old titties flopping around in a leather bustier while you slap your boyfriend’s balls with a whip.”

 

“Ow.”

 

“Yeah, no kidding. But he seemed to like it, if his hard-on was anything to go by,” she went on.

 

“That must have been some hard-on if you could see it from all the way across the street,” Bucky had to admit.

 

“Well, you know, the binoculars helped.”

 

Bucky burst out laughing, loving her and her uninhibited nature so much at that moment. She really was one of his favorite people in the world.

 

“Pictures?” he asked, when he finally managed to stop.

 

“No,” she heaved a disappointed sigh. “The camera in my phone’s not that good.” They were passed by a pair of young women as they went on their way. A few steps later there was the sound of whispering and hushed giggles. Bucky looked back at them and winked, before continuing on with Dewy. She saw the gesture and glanced over her shoulder, before turning to Bucky. “Uh-huh.” The slyness in her voice matched the slyness of her grin as she smirked at him.

 

“It’s the jeans,” he told her.

 

“It’s the ass. I told you those were going to make your ass look fantastic, and I was right,” she said happily. She had actually been the one to help him once the new awakening of his body inspired him to change the way he started to dress. She had gone shopping with him, offering her opinions and advice as Bucky worked his way into developing a newer style that was a bit sleeker than what he had been previously wearing. Nothing too ostentatious, but she had helped him sort through the multitude of options available until he was able to find things that suited him and were actually appealing as well as functional. And she had loved the cut of the jeans he was currently wearing, insisting that he buy three more pairs in a variety of colors. Bucky preferred the black ones, but today he was wearing the faded greys, along with a black Henley he was wearing underneath an old David Bowie t-shirt she had found for him, beneath his denim jacket. He had his customary baseball cap on, but his hair was down, and he felt cool and comfortable in the early springtime air. He just shrugged at her words and continued to amble along at her side.

 

“Seriously Bucky,” she went on a few minutes later when he had not said anything. “Do you not have any idea?”

 

“’Bout what?” he asked.

 

“That you’re absolutely gorgeous.” It was his turn to glance at her out of the corner of his eye, to see whether she was joking or not, before he shrugged and continued walking.

 

“I’m alright, I guess,” he said. And then he reached down deep within, for a truth he could barely share with anyone, to offer it to her. “If you like freaks with a metal arm.” She stopped suddenly, forcing him to cease his steps, and turned to look at him, without releasing his arm.

 

“Are you serious? Do you really not know?” she asked. “Bucky, you’re fucking hot. And yeah, you have a metal arm. But that’s because you’re a vet. If that’s the only thing that someone can see when they look at you, well then they’re an asshole and don’t deserve you.” She started walking again, pulling him along with her as she waddled her way down the street, while all Bucky could do was stare at her with his mouth agape. “Really Bucky. You’re an idiot if you think anything else.” But then she paused, and glanced at him again, all fox-spirit and mischief. “Besides, if you could get that arm of yours to vibrate, you’d have every woman, and probably half of the men Brooklyn following you home like puppies.”

 

Bucky snorted. “You just had to go there, didn’t you?”

 

“Of course I did,” she said, patting his arm. “It’s like you don’t even know me at all.”

 

“Well,” Bucky said, glancing upwards. It was a clear, crisp day, and the sky was a bright blue, almost as bright and almost as blue as Stevie’s eyes. “They’d all be jealous. Because I’m already walking with the most beautiful woman in all of Brooklyn,” Bucky paused, and then amended, “Well, one of them anyway.”

 

“Ah yes,” she said, as light and as carefree as the breeze that kissed their cheeks. It was good to see her like this, when he knew how uncomfortable she almost always was now. She was having trouble sleeping, constantly needing to go to the bathroom, and her back and legs ached. Surprisingly enough, walking seemed to help. So Bucky spent as much of his free time as he could walking with her up and down the avenue and along all the side streets. “Josefina absolutely loved what you did with her hair today.”

 

The previous night, Joey had come to him nearly in tears, complaining about her hair, how awful it was and how it never did anything she wanted it to. After some gentle pressing and careful questions, she told Bucky that it was picture day at school today, and how she was going to look horrible in her photos because not only was she fat but because of her hair and “ _her stupid frizzy curls that don’t do anything right!_ ” Bucky had gone home that night, and after declining Steve’s offer of a run (which had left him speechless for a good fifteen minutes, a record as far as Bucky was concerned), Bucky spent the rest of the evening watching instructional videos on Youtube about how to braid and style very curly hair. Early the next morning, confident in his ability after he had studied over fifty of them, and once he had waved Steve off on his way, Bucky left the house, made a quick stop at their local CVS, and headed on up to Lulu’s apartment. After a quick word with Lulu, he ended up sitting on the couch, with Joey kneeling in the floor in between his legs, working her way through a cold bowl of cereal while she grumbled at him that no matter what, she was going to look stupid.

 

Except twenty minutes later, when he had finished, her hair was pulled up and curled into a crown of little rosettes on the top of her head, pinned in placed by the blue butterfly pins he had found for her at the drugstore. She was looking at herself in the mirror, her eyes wide with disbelief.

 

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod Bucky I love it! _I love it!_ ” she squealed, jumping forward to wrap him in a quick hug before she dashed out of the bathroom and into the kitchen. “Abuela! Abuela look! Look at my hair! Look at my hair!”

 

“Let me see. Let me see,” he heard Lulu say. “Oh Josefina, you look beautiful. You’re going to have to tell me all about how the pictures went when I get back on Sunday.” Just like Stevie, Lulu was travelling that weekend. But unlike Stevie, who was going to spend his time trying to fundraise for a worthy cause, Lulu was heading down to Atlantic City for a weekend with her friends from church. But instead of praying to god, they were going to pray to Hermes to lend them a little extra luck at the Blackjack tables. She usually went every month, but as it was getting close to Dewy’s due date, she wanted one last hurrah before the family would have to buckle down and help with their newest arrival.

 

As Joey screamed and squealed in her excitement, Bucky looked down at both of his hands. He could kill with them, use them to crush throats, smash concrete and hit a target with absolute perfect precision. But also, help rebuild a house with them, pull Stevie’s wounded body from a river and braid a young woman’s hair to bring a smile to her face. Left and right, right and left, one he was born with and one that had been forced upon him, but each his own. A curse, he didn’t think he would ever stop believing the left one to be, but like all things dark, it had its own silver lining.

 

“You know she’s going to be bothering you to do her hair every day now,” Dewy said, pulling him back into the present.

 

“We’ll come to a compromise,” Bucky grunted, as they continued their walk.

 

“Yes,” Dewy nodded. “She’ll make her demands and you’ll end up doing whatever she wants, just like you always do.”

 

He grunted again and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah, cos Joey’s the only one.”

 

“Oh please.” She waved her free hand at him. “If you did everything I wanted, you would take this baby out of me right now, because seriously Bucky I am so goddamned tired of being pregnant and –“ She stopped, mid-stride and mid-word.

 

“And?” Bucky asked, turning to look at her. Only to find that her eyes were wide and her face pale.

 

“And oh shit Bucky!” she gasped. “My water just broke!”

 

***

 

 _From your mouth to God’s ears_ , Bucky thought as he stood there, as stunned as she was, matching her stare with one of his own.

 

“What?” he asked.

 

“My water Bucky, it just broke,” she gasped again, and then dug her fingers into his arm. “And oh shit, I think I’m having a contraction, a real one this time!”

 

“ _What?_ ”

 

“Bucky! I’m having the baby!”

 

“Oh no you’re not!”

 

“What do you mean oh no I’m not? I’m–oh jeez. Oh shit.” She looked up at him then, from where she had hunched over herself, her arm wrapped around her belly, her eyes wide and frightened. “Bucky,” she whispered.

 

_Right._

 

Enough was enough.

 

This was a mission, just like any other mission. Its goals where ensuring her safety and well-being, and getting her to a hospital as soon as possible. There was no room for error, and any other outcome except success was completely unacceptable.

 

Bucky straightened and looked around. A crowd had gathered, but were doing nothing to assist, simply standing there gawping. Useless as back-up, all of them absolutely fucking useless as back-up. This was why he always worked alone.

 

“Right,” he said it aloud this time. They were on Fifth Avenue between 55th and 56th Streets. He knew that Steve’s truck was parked on 54th between Fourth and Fifth Avenues. Farther than he would have liked, but it would still be quicker than calling for an ambulance and waiting for it to arrive. “Right,” he said it one more time, before he reached out, scooped Dewy easily up into his arms, and being as careful and as steady as he could, took off at a run. “Hold on.”

 

He made it to the SUV in less than two minutes. He carefully deposited Dewy in the front seat, and then dashed to the other side, taking out his phone as he pulled the door shut and started the ignition.

 

“Call Lutheran Hospital,” he ordered as he turned out into the street. In the seat across from him, Dewy was holding onto her stomach and moaning, trying to curl up into herself. “You’re all right Dewy. I’m here and everything’s okay and we’re going to get you to the hospital.”

 

_“Lutheran Medical Center, how may I direct your call?”_

 

“I’m calling for Dorcas Rodriguez. She’s pregnant and has just gone into labor. Her obstetrician’s name is Dr. Minerva Moreno. Her due date was April 18th and she’s three weeks early.”

 

“Current location?”

 

“We’re enroute to Lutheran hospital, ETA less than five minutes.” Bucky disconnected and then swerved around a mail truck, making a sharp left onto Third Avenue.

 

“Oh shit! Oh shit! Fuckfuckfuckfuck!” Dewy moaned from the passenger seat.

 

“You’re all right Dewy, you’re all right. It’s going to be okay. We’re on our way and they know to expect us. I’ve got you,” he said to her as he sped along the avenue. “Open new text, Rodriguez family.” As soon as his phone beeped, Bucky started speaking again. “Dewy’s having the baby right now. I’m with her and we’re on our way to the hospital. Will text as soon as I know more. End. Mark urgent and send now.”

 

“My overnight bag!” she cried.

 

“I’ll go back and get it for you later. Just breathe Dewy, just breathe. Come on, you can do this, you can do this.”

 

“I hate men!”

 

“I know you do. But just keep it in, hold it in, a few more minutes. Please don’t have the baby in Stevie’s truck. Cross your legs or something. I don’t want to have to explain to him why I had to burn the seat.”

 

“You asshole!” she gasped, but there, tiny and weak, was a little laugh underneath her pain and panic.

 

“I know, I know, but we’re almost there, we’re almost there, okay? I promise you. Just think of your shoes, think of all of your pretty shoes you’ll finally be able to wear again.”

 

Less than two minutes later, Bucky turned into the parking lot of the emergency room at Lutheran hospital and was shutting off the ignition. He jumped out of the car, bolted to the other side, opened the door, scooped Dewy back into his arms, and was dashing to the entrance, where her medical team was waiting with a wheelchair for her.

 

“Are you the father, sir?” One of the nurses asked as they rushed inside. Bucky didn’t even have a chance to shake his head no before Dewy answered for him.

 

“Yes he is, and he’s coming into the delivery room with me!” she half moaned, half shouted.

 

_“What?”_

 

She reached out then, grabbing his left hand, squeezing it tightly. As he looked at her face, red and dripping with sweat, he could see the fear, honest and raw in the way that all of her emotions were, but new too. Because Bucky had known her for over a year by now, and he had never seen her look like this, terrified and small and desperately afraid of being left alone. His friend, his sister, who held a corner of his heart, and she was asking this of him, asking him to do this for her.

 

And Bucky, who had been abandoned and left alone for over seventy years, would not do the same thing to her.

 

“ _Yes_ ,” he breathed out, not knowing what he had agreed to, only that he would now have to see it through.

 

“Right. Come on then, let’s get you scrubbed up and into a gown. We have to hurry, because it looks like she’s going to give birth any minute now.”

 

***

 

It took less than an hour. Granted, it was an hour of screams and curses and Bucky seeing more of Dewy’s body than he ever wanted to, and her digging her nails into his left arm (he had never been more grateful for his metal arm in his life, because holy shit, she had a grip on her that could have easily ripped flesh from bones). But then there was a final push, an exhausted gasp, and a soft wailing cry filling the delivery room.

 

And then they were carefully placing a tightly wrapped bundle into Dewy’s arms, as she lay there, drained and weak, but more beautiful than he had ever seen her.

 

“You did it,” he said to her, placing a gentle kiss to her forehead. She heaved another exhausted breath and nodded.

 

“Thank you, Bucky, thank you,” she whispered to him, laying a heavy hand on his forearm.

 

“You did all the work Dewy, I just got you here.”

 

“And did a damn fine job of it,” another whisper, this time with a weak nod. “Now, come, take her.”

 

“What?”

 

“You’ve been waiting to meet each other for nine months,” Dewy swallowed and then sighed. “It’s time Bucky. Say hello to Nina.”

 

They put her in his arms, this tiny little miracle of barely seven pounds. She looked like a little, fuzzy, pink and wrinkled raisin, with a scrunched-up face, and a surprising thatch of black hair on her head. Ugly and shriveled and so very helpless.

 

And the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life.

 

***

 

Three hours later, Bucky was slouched back in the visitor’s chair in Dewy’s room, Dewy getting a well-deserved sleep in the bed, and Nina in his arms when Lulu finally arrived. She came in quietly, walking over to check on her daughter, which she did with a fond look and a soft kiss to her forehead. And then she turned, looked at Bucky and did the same to him.

 

“Thank you,” she whispered, running her hand over his hair, before she bent over to get her first look at her new granddaughter.

 

***

 

The next day, Bucky drove the SUV back to the hospital to pick Dewy and Nina up and bring them home. Well, not before he made one more stop. Actually, it was his third stop of the day, after he attempted to clean the interior of Steve’s truck, trying to remove the stains and the smell. Three hours later, he admitted defeat and drove to a car wash, where he paid for the premium interior car cleaning package, as well as an air freshener, which now hung from the rearview mirror and made the entire truck smell like bubble gum.

 

He then drove to Park Slope and the small shop he had found online to pick up the specially made item he had ordered over a month ago, and then back to Lulu’s house on 54th Street. She was waiting for him at the door when he arrived, and stood quietly to the side as he carried his gift up to the second floor and into the nursery they had all so carefully prepared for Nina’s arrival.

 

“I – I hope that this is okay,” he said when she still had not said anything to him, merely watching as he carefully placed the hand-made walnut and cherry wood rocking chair he’d had custom made. It was sturdy and solid, but comfortable, and he thought it would be the perfect place for a new mother to sit and rock with her baby in her arms as they watched the world go by.

 

She came over to the chair, carefully running her fingers over the back of it, giving it a gentle push, watching as it rocked back and forth. She lifted both of her hands to her heart, closed her eyes and lowered her head. She held like that for a minute, not saying a word, so perfectly still Bucky began to worry.

 

“I can bring it back if you think it’s too much,” he offered nervously. “I didn’t mean to impose. I just thought it would be a nice gift, Lulu.” At the sound of her name, she opened her eyes and turned to him, reaching out and taking his hands into her own.

 

“Listen to me Bucky,” she said to him in Spanish, her soft voice as calm as the deepest seas and as strong as the oldest oak. “You have been coming to my home for almost a year and a half now, ever since you first showed up at my restaurant, looking for a little bit of food, and something more. And I’ve been watching you for all of that time, and seen you stumble and fall, and sometimes looking like you were ready to give up on everything. But you never did and you always came back. And each time you were a little stronger and a little better and you smiled a little more. At my food at first, and then at me, and then the rest of my family. And I thought this is good, this is good, we can give him what he needs, because you needed it mijo, _ssh mijo, ssh, you did_ , and I didn’t think you had anyone else.

 

“But then you started talking to my granddaughter, and made her laugh and smile like I had never seen before. You let Dorcas walk into your life, accepting her as she is, as if she’d always been there. And I thought that was even better, that you were opening up and sharing yourself, and becoming who you were before all of those horrible things happened to you.” She stopped to swallow and take a deep breath before she went on.

 

“But then when we started having problems, when Josefina needed someone to get her out of that house where that horrible man kept trying to touch her, or Dorcas needed someone to take her to the hospital, there you were, for all of us, without us even having to ask, doing what had to be done without any complaint, only hoping for a space at my table and a few home cooked meals in exchange. And I realized that we needed you just as much as you needed us.” She let go of his hands and took a step back, but only a small one, before she was reaching up to cup his face.

 

“I’ve only ever given birth to daughters, and I am so proud of each and every one,” she said, running her thumbs over his cheeks. “But I have always wanted a son. I think the reason I never had one is because I was meant to wait for you, so I would be ready when you walked into my life. I know you had a mother that you don’t remember Bucky, but if she loved you, and I’m sure that she did, then I don’t think she would mind if I started calling you my own. I have been in my heart for a very long time now. And it would make me so happy if instead of calling me Lulu, you started to call me Mami. I think it’s long past time, don’t you?”

 

He stood staring at her, shocked into silence, as she looked up at him, her thumbs gently stroking his cheeks. He realized that it was tears, his tears that she was wiping away, as she stood there waiting for his answer.

 

Then he was bending forward, taking her into his arms, holding onto her tightly, while he shivered and shook like the little boy he had once been, but thought long lost.

 

And she held onto him, just as tightly, keeping him safe, keeping him warm, while against her shoulder he whispered the words, “Si Mami, si.”

 

***

 

“You’re going to be her godfather you know,” Lulu said to him, as he sat in Dewy’s room, Nina cradled in his arms while they waited for the nurse to return with Dewy’s discharge papers.

 

“What?” he asked, looking up.

 

“Uh-huh,” Dewy chimed in from where she was leaning back against her pillows. She was still pale, and it was obvious she was still tired, but she looked so much better than she had yesterday. “We decided on that when we first found out I was pregnant.”

 

“What?”

 

“Of course we did Bucky,” Lulu went on, coming to sit by his side and running a careful hand over Nina’s cap covered head. “Who else could possibly be a better guardian for our new little girl?”

 

“That means you get to pick her middle name,” Dewy told him with a tired smile. “But make sure it’s a good one, not something stupid like Piano or Gildersnatch or something like that.”

 

“Oh my god Dorcas, I’ve no idea where you come with any of this,” Lulu grumbled. But Bucky barely heard her. Because once again he was overwhelmed. A godfather. They wanted him to be the godfather for this tiny little girl, and pick a name that she would carry with her for the rest of her life. He looked down at this tiny baby, so small in the cradle of his arms, and thought she was a miracle. A miracle in his life that not so long ago had had so very few good things in it, and was now blessed with so much grace and gifts that he didn’t know what to do with. What name could he possibly give to her to encompass all that she was and all that she had already given to him.

 

Then it came to him, quick and quiet, as if it had always been there.

 

“Sarah,” he said quietly.

 

“What?” Dewy asked.

 

“Sarah,” he said again. He didn’t remember his own mother, couldn’t remember her, no matter how hard he tried. But he had a new one now, not a replacement, never a replacement, but there in his life, his heart as if that was where she was meant to be. But he could remember Stevie’s, kind and gracious, with the same golden hair and blue eyes she had passed on to her son, and just as generous, so much of her still alive in him. She had given him Stevie after all, the first and most lasting miracle of all his life. He thought it only fair that he repay her in kind.

 

“Nina Sarah Rodriguez,” Lulu said softly.

 

“It’s pretty,” Dewy agreed.

 

“Stevie’s mother,” he whispered, lifting Nina up so he could kiss her forehead.

 

“Ah,” Lulu said. “That makes sense.”

 

“Oh good,” Dewy agreed. “You can bring him to the church then. It’s about time we meet him.”

 

“What? What church?” Bucky asked, looking up from Nina for the first time.

 

“For the baptism in six weeks,” Dewy explained. “Where you’re going to officially stand in as her godfather.”

 

“What?”

 

“You’ll have to get a suit though. You can’t wear your jeans to the church.”

 

“And a haircut,” Lulu interjected. “It’s about time you got one.”

 

“Ay, leave it Mami. He’s sexier that way.”

 

“You just had this one less than twenty-four hours ago and you’re already thinking about men?”

 

“I always think about men Mami, you know that. And I can’t wait to see the look on Gloria’s face when she gets a look at Bucky.”

 

“What?”

 

***

 

He did end up getting a suit, which Lulu insisted on paying for.

 

“I didn’t get to buy you your first one Bucky, let me pay for this one,” she interrupted when he tried to argue, as they stood in the dressing room while the tailor took his measurements. “A mother always looks forward to buying her son his first suit.”

 

“Just make sure that it’s fitted around his ass,” Dewy told the tailor from where she was perched on one of the seats, Nina cradled in her arms.

 

“Really Dorcas?” Lulu asked.

 

“What?” Dewy was all pretend innocence and fake nonchalance. “It’s one of his best features, he should show it off more.”

 

“It is a nice ass, sir,” the tailor said from behind him as he took the measurements of Bucky’s shoulders, “If you don’t mind me saying so.”

 

“Told you,” Dewy sing-songed.

 

“That’s it. I’m going home,” he grumbled.

 

“You’ll do no such thing mijo,” Lulu said, just as Dewy chimed in with a “Yes, you do that. And make sure to invite Stevie to the baptism finally. We need to meet this mysterious best friend of yours.”

 

“Joey’s my best friend and she’s already coming.”

 

Lulu and Dewy shared a knowing look with each other, before they both turned to him with small and secretive smiles on their faces.

 

“What?” he asked.

 

“Nothing,” Dewy hummed, swinging her feet, which were now clad in her customary high heels, back and forth slightly.

 

“He’s a pig,” Bucky went on.

 

“I run a restaurant Bucky, I can cook enough food,” Lulu countered.

 

“And a nosy busy-body.”

 

“Even better. I’m sure he has plenty of juicy gossip he can share,” Dewy said.

 

“I wish. He’s a dumbass who doesn’t even know how to watch his own back.”

 

“Is he at least pretty?” the tailor asked.

 

“Ugh, I’m serious this time. I’m going home.”

 

“You stay right where you are,” Lulu ordered. “After this, we’re getting you a haircut.”

 

Bucky didn’t get a haircut. But two weeks later, when he went to pick up his suit, he had to admit that the tailor had done a good job, and his ass looked great.

 

***

 

It wasn’t that Bucky didn’t want to introduce Stevie to Lulu and her family. He knew that it was going to have to happen eventually. Just like he had once been fractured into two, he now had two very distinct and important parts of his life. He understood they were going to have to blend, to become one, just like he had finally become one. But unlike himself, he wasn’t sure if when those two aspects of his life came together he would be strong enough to embrace their combined parts.

 

Or at least that was the lie he told himself.

 

The truth of it was, something he could only admit to himself late at night and in the dark, was that he worried. The Rodriguezes would meet Steve, and see all of his breath-taking, golden glory. Bucky may have been a moon, but Steve was a sun, glorious and shining, and how could anyone not want to bask in that glow. And Steve, he had a lot less problems and a lot less issues than Bucky did, and who wouldn’t want him to be a part of their family.

 

But in spite of what everyone else may have thought, Steve did have his own wants and hungers and needs. He would take one look at the little family Bucky had somehow managed to build, and want to take them on, make them his to shelter and protect, and where would that leave Bucky.

 

It was small, and it was petty, Bucky knew. But he still worried over it, over what would happen when they all finally met each other, and wondered if he was big enough, strong enough to be able to step back, step aside, like he had before during the war, with Peggy and the Howlies and the rest of the world. He should, he knew that he should. Steve deserved Lulu and her family, and they deserved him.

 

But he wanted to be greedy, and keep something for himself, for just a bit longer, for maybe the first time in his life. So he held off, held back, always telling himself next time, next week, next month, _just let me hold the baby one more time_.

 

Yet as the day of the baptism grew closer and closer, Bucky decided it was finally time. He made up his mind to tell Steve all about it, and invite him to the ceremony that was two days away.

 

When he got home that afternoon, a little later than usual, but earlier than when Steve usually made it, he was already there, up in his room, packing a bag.

 

“Hey,” Bucky called from the open doorway. “What’s going on? Going somewhere?”

 

“Oh, hey Buck,” Steve said, as he reached into his bureau and pulled out a couple of pairs of socks. “And yeah I am. I’m heading down to DC for a couple of days.”

 

 _Seriously,_ Bucky thought. Enough was enough, this had to stop now.

 

“Really Stevie? Again?” Bucky came into the room and sat down at the edge of the bed.

 

“Yeah Bucky. I really need to go.” There was something in Steve’s voice that made Bucky stop and pay attention.

 

“Is everything all right?” he asked.

 

“No,” Steve sighed, pausing in his packing to run a hand through his hair. “Sam just found out that one of the vets he’s been counseling in the center where he works killed himself.”

 

“Oh,” Bucky said. “Shit.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve sighed again and went back to his packing. “Sam’s been working with him for years, and thought he was doing okay, but, well…And he’s taking it hard. So I told him I would come down and spend a couple of days with him, stand by him during the funeral like he stood with me when Peggy died.”

 

“Yeah, of course.” Bucky understood. He may not have liked Wilson very much, but still, it was an awful thing that had happened, that could have happened to any of them if their circumstances had been different.

 

“You don’t mind, do you?” Steve checked in with him, wanting to make sure.

 

“No, no, of course not.” Bucky shook his head. “You go do what you gotta do. He’s gonna need you there.” Bucky knew better than anyone just how much Steve’s presence could make even the worst situation better. He was a comfort and a balm to the soul, and the one you wanted by your side more than anything else when times were tough.

 

“You wanna come?” Steve offered.

 

“Nah,” Bucky said with another shake of his head. “You don’t need me there for that, and I don’t think he’s going to want to have to deal with me when he’s already got enough on his plate right now.”

 

“Offer’s open though.”

 

“Yeah, I know. Thanks for that.” He watched as Steve finished up his packing, adding a few more shirts and two additional pairs of jeans to his duffel. “How long do you think you’ll be?”

 

“Dunno. Couple of days, maybe a week. Depends on how he’s doing.”

 

“’Kay,” Bucky nodded. “Just let me know when you’re coming back. I’ll pick you up at the train station.”

 

“Thanks Buck.”

 

Just before he left, Bucky reached out and grabbed Steve by his upper arm, pausing him in his steps.

 

“Tell Wilson I’m sorry, yeah.” Steve looked at him with a small smile and nodded.

 

“Thanks Buck, I will. I’ll text you when I get in.”

 

“’Kay.”

 

And then Steve turned around and was gone, jumping into the car service he had called to take him to the Amtrak station. Bucky was sorry to see him leave, sorry for what had happened to Wilson and the vet he had not been able to help. But he was also, and he hated to admit it, just the tiniest bit relieved. He would have a little more time, just a little bit, to keep his secrets to himself.

 

***

 

So he put on his suit and his new shoes, and he went to the church, and stood as Nina’s godfather, swearing his own oaths to her as he held her in his arms while the priest droned on and on. Then he piled them into Steve’s SUV and drove them all to the hall the family had rented for the day so that they could celebrate and officially welcome the newest member of the family into their clan.

 

The baptism may have been a serious affair, but the after-party was like none he had ever experienced. There were more members of the family to meet, sisters and cousins and nieces and nephews, and a huge buffet table filled with an abundance of food, from which he sampled everything. And there was music and dancing, lots and lots of music and lots and lots of dancing.

 

Puerto Ricans loved to come together and celebrate. And they celebrated their joy with food and music and dancing. So after he had eaten enough to satisfy even his appetite, he took off his suit jacket, stepped onto the parquet floor and for the first time in over seventy five years, he danced. He danced with Joey and Dewy and Lulu, who could move better than anyone he had ever seen. He danced with Lulu’s sisters, all of whom were more than happy to spend some time on the dancefloor with a man they thought was a lot younger than they were. Then he danced with Dewy’s cousins, each one thrilled to have someone new to dance with, followed by all of Joey’s second cousins, who loved being able to dance with an older man, who would eagerly partner with them, while always taking them seriously. Merengues and salsas, modern hits and disco classics, with beautiful women in beautiful dresses. The only time he ever stopped was when Nina needed to be held or fed, and then he sat down with her in his arms, and listened to Lulu and her sisters gossip, flirting playfully with their daughters, or argued with Joey about why Celia Cruz was still a classic (even if he had never heard any of her music before), while she insisted that anything released before 2015 was too old and should be banned from the radio. And then he danced some more, remembering that this was something that he used to do, that he used to love, and had tried to do as often as possible. It was joy, it was freedom, it was a celebration, and it was okay to sometimes let go and just be. His only regret was that Stevie wasn’t there to share it with him, when he deserved this too, more than anyone Bucky had ever known. But maybe, maybe the next time.

 

Three days later when he picked Steve up from the train station, it was with a smile and a slap to the shoulder. Steve looked tired and a little worn around the edges, but he seemed grateful when he stepped outside of Penn Station and saw Bucky waiting for him in the SUV.

 

“Wilson doing all right?” Bucky asked, pulling away from the curb once Steve had settled into his seat.

 

“Better now,” Steve said with a sigh, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the headrest. “Rough couple of days, but he’s going to be okay.”

 

“How ‘bout you? You doing okay?”

 

“Tired,” Steve admitted. “Like I said, rough couple of days. But it’s good to be home.” And he didn’t even know about the pastelon and flan Bucky had waiting for him.

 

“Yeah well, don’t get used to it,” Bucky said instead. “We still gotta finish working on those stairs.”

 

“Jerk,” Steve muttered, but he was smiling as he said it.

 

“Punk.”

 

“How about you? How was it while I was away?”

 

“I didn’t blow anything up if that’s what you’re worried about.” Steve snorted at his response. “And I’ll have you know, I only used the sledgehammer once.”

 

“Only once?” Steve asked, cracking his eye open to study him.

 

“Okay, maybe twice. But that doorknob was asking for it.”

 

This time Steve laughed. “So boring then?”

 

“Well it was definitely quiet for a change.”

 

“You’re such an asshole Buck.”

 

“And you’re a dumbass who keeps asking stupid questions.”

 

“Yeah, it’s definitely good to be home.”

 

And it was, it was good to have Stevie back. Even if it had only been for a few days, no matter what else was going on in his life, Bucky only felt truly safe, truly secure and truly complete if Steve was there by his side.

 

It was crucial to his well-being, critical to his survival. Especially a week later, when out of nowhere there came a new wave of memories that almost destroyed every bit of peace and hope that Bucky had only just rediscovered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So some serious writer bits about Bucky's family (once again, please ignore if this is not your thing). You may have noticed that Lulu, Dewy and Joey are all at different stages in their lives. That was a deliberate choice. I knew from pretty early on that I was going to be giving Bucky a family (Senora Rodriguez is mentioned several times in The Taming), that would help him in his recovery. I also knew that they would all be female, because I wanted to play a bit with the idea of the Maiden, the Mother and the Crone. Because we've all met amazing women in our lives, at various ages, and I think at this stage of his recovery they could give back to Bucky something he didn't even know he wanted / needed. Either way, I hope you enjoyed meeting the Rodriguez family. We finally get back to more of Steve in the next chapter. 
> 
> Also - I just need to once again give shouts and love and all the sparkly good things in the world to my beta Merry_rf, because seriously guys, she's a fricken miracle worker. <3 <3 <3 
> 
> As always, please feel free to comment or just say hi. Each one makes flowers bloom in my heart.


	8. Implosions

**TRIGGER WARNING**

_**points to tags**_

_Please see the chapter end notes for warnings / spoilers. And if even that is too much, know that the next chapter will be trigger warning free._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

February rolled into March and March into April and it was now the middle of May. Nina had been born and then christened, and Bucky was spending as much of his time with his family as he could whenever Steve was out of the house. It was a careful balancing act, a tightrope he was walking, but in some perverse way Bucky found that he was enjoying it. It wasn’t going to last, he knew that it couldn’t. But it also calmed something deep and dark within him, to know that there were options out there for him; different caches of safety and security he could turn to, depending on whatever it was he needed or was able to give on a particular day. And this way he could keep them both and never have to worry about having to choose between them, or risk losing one because of the other.

 

Then there was his body, with all the new joys and secrets it was sharing with him. He had gone through a second large bottle of lube, and was trying out yet another new brand to see how much he liked it compared to his previous purchases. Bucky would readily admit that it was a lot of fun and he was enjoying every minute of it.

 

But then there was the day, a moment, where he felt himself pause. He’d just orgasmed and something had flickered in the back of his brain, a bit of static that made him hold still and carefully probe at whatever was there, carefully, but persistent, like a tongue that could not stop nudging at a sore tooth. He’d had moments of worry before, where he stopped what he was doing and searched through his memories, needing to make sure that his body had not lied, that his recollections were not deceiving him, and this was indeed the first time his arousal had returned to him in over seventy five years. Because if there had been a point, even a single one, where he had been on a mission for HYDRA, and his body had responded with pleasure or desire, he did not care what he had promised to either Steve or his family; he would have swallowed his gun, pulled the trigger and blown his own brains out.

 

But there was nothing like that to be found, and he was grateful, so damned grateful for at least that much. So he probed a little at the flicker, wondering at what was there, what was trying to come to the surface. It resisted him, slipping through his fingers like mist, and so he sighed, shrugged it off, and leaned over the side of his bed so that he could pick his shirt up from off the floor…the floor…the floor…the floor…

 

_Where his eyes had been looking while behind him his handler forced their way into his body, and all the Asset could do was remain bent over the table, perfectly still, a doll positioned and unable to resist, and let them._

 

That was the last thought he had, until over two hours later when he came to and found himself curled into a ball in the tub of the upstairs bathroom, while the water pounded down on his shoulders. It was scalding hot, blistering his skin as it struck his flesh, and yet he was shivering, cold, so cold, everything rattling, his teeth, his bones, every one of his joints shaking and unable to stop.

 

But he had to get up, had to force himself to stand, because he was filthy, disgusting, dirty and putrid, and he had to get it off, get it all off, _getitoffgetitoffgetitoff_.

 

He used an entire bar of soap, and then another, as he scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed at himself, knowing his skin was red, that parts of him were bleeding. But it wasn’t enough, it wouldn’t be enough, he was still tainted, still corrupt, and could he use bleach, would that work, would that finally make the feeling of bugs and scum and fluids go away.

 

He never got to find out, because the hot water ran out and he was back to being cold, so cold, so _goddamned motherfucking cold_. He had to wrap himself in three towels before he could stumble out of the bathroom and into his room, where he dressed himself in two pairs of socks, a pair of jeans, an undershirt, Henley, t-shirt, and then even a hoodie over that, and still, _still_ , he could not get warm.

 

His mind was shrieking at him, shredding the inside of his brain, and he needed to get out, to go, to _runrunrun_ , to someplace safe, someplace far away, but he couldn’t, _he couldn’t_ _leave_ because, because…

 

_He had promised Stevie, and he had never broken a promise to Stevie ever before._

 

But he couldn’t just stay here, out in the open and vulnerable, where anyone could find him and see and know. He needed a place to hide, someplace dark and safe where no one could reach him, no one could touch him, and he would be able to protect himself if they came back, came for him again. So he grabbed two of his guns, three of his knives and shoved them into the front pocket of his hoodie, ran all the way down into the basement, not even bothering to turn on the lights, and wedged himself into the small space between the washing machine and the wall, curling up into a little ball, while he shook and shook and shook and shook.

 

 _Sorry_ , he thought he heard the word. He didn’t know if he had spoken, or if it was that part of him that had once been the Asset, shifting itself ever so slightly to make its presence known. _Sorry, sorry, sorry, but this too, this happened, you needed to know, sorrysorrysorry._

 

He closed his eyes, lowered his head to his knees, and shook and shook and shook and shook.

 

And relived it all over again.

 

***

 

That was where Steve found him when he came home a few hours later, still curled up into a little ball, and still shaking.

 

“Bucky,” he heard his name being softly called, and lifted his head to see Steve crouched in front of him, his eyes wide with concern. “What happened Bucky? What’s wrong?” Steve didn’t touch him, but he was reaching out, moving slowly, making his intentions very clear, but even that was too much. Steve was there, his hand was coming closer and he was blocking the exit, Bucky’s only means of escape. Bucky cringed, pulling back further into an even tighter ball, and shook his head.

 

“Okay Bucky, okay, I’m sorry. I’m not going to touch you and I’m going to back away,” Steve said, doing exactly that, slowly moving backward and away from the entrance of the crack where Bucky had wedged himself. “But can I sit with you Bucky? Would that be all right?” Bucky could barely shrug, but Steve must have seen the gesture and taken it for agreement. He moved back even further, but kept himself in Bucky’s line of sight, sitting down on the floor five feet away.

 

“I’m here Bucky, I’m here,” he began to say softly. “I’m here and you’re safe. If you can, just tell me what you need, and I’ll make sure you get it.” Bucky couldn’t answer; it was taking everything in him, every last single bit of all of his resources to just hold himself still, pressed back against the wall. Steve sat there, studying him carefully, trying to fix it, wanting to offer comfort, but nothing he could say or do would change what had happened.

 

“Bucky,” he said quietly a little while later, when nothing he had offered had garnered a response. “Do you need to go Bucky? Do you need to run?” Bucky knew that Steve wasn’t asking about one of those nights when Bucky took off down the streets of their neighborhood, running to burn off extra energy and patrol the area. He was asking if Bucky needed to flee, to escape, like he used to, in order to protect what little of his sanity he sometimes still had.

 

Bucky closed his eyes and nodded.

 

“Then why didn’t you Buck?” He was trying to be kind, generous, when they both knew that Bucky leaving like that was Steve’s greatest fear.

 

“C-c-can’t,” he stuttered out. It was the first word he had been able to speak in hours, and it rattled against his teeth and nearly smothered him with the effort of getting it out. “Pr-promised you I-I-I w-wouldn’t. Won’t br-break that pr-pr-promise.”

 

Steve continued to sit there, studying him, but never coming any closer, until he seemed to come to a decision and gave Bucky a slight nod.

 

“If you have to go Bucky, then go. I won’t stop you,” he said, but then lifted a hand. He didn’t reach for Bucky, he just held it there, asking for one last bit, one more drop of blood from Bucky’s soul. “But can I come with you? I won’t stop you, and I won’t get in your way. I won’t even say anything. You do what you gotta do, and I’ll guard your six. Would that be all right?”

 

“Yes.” The word came out hissing with all of the relief Bucky suddenly felt.

 

“Can you give me five? Just so I can get a bag together?” Steve asked, already rising to his feet. Bucky nodded, finally able to do the same and uncurl himself from the ball he had crouched into and crawl out of the corner he had wedged himself in, his muscles aching. Steve took another quick glance at him, his eyes taking in all the clothing Bucky had wrapped himself in, in spite of the heat, nodded one more time, turned and bolted up the stairs.

 

Bucky followed, but stopped once he reached the first floor, dropping down to smash his fist through the wooden floor boards in the entryway and pulling back with the bag he still kept stashed there. He had just enough time to shakily type out a group text, _Bad flashback. Need run. Steve with. Back soon_ , to Lulu, Dewy and Joey, before Steve was back, a bag of his own over his shoulder. He took a quick glance at the floor, then back up to Bucky and nodded again.

 

“Go,” he said. “I’ll keep up.”

 

Bucky was out the door before his cell vibrated with three incoming replies.

 

 **Joey** : _Okay_

 

 **Dewy** : _Be safe._

 

 **Lulu** : _Come back to us soon. We love you. Mami_

 

***

 

Steve was as good as his word. He didn’t try to stop Bucky, didn’t get in his way, and didn’t say a single word as Bucky bolted down the streets, to where he knew there were buses you could catch for cheap to Atlantic City, that didn’t leave from the Port Authority. He followed as Bucky scrambled onto one of the buses, handed the driver his money and then stumbled to the back row, where he wedged himself into the corner and once again curled up into a little ball, his face pressed against the window. Steve was more sedate as he followed, joining Bucky at the back, but sitting a seat away, giving Bucky his space, but using his body as a shield to keep anyone else from getting anywhere near him.

 

Three hours later, Bucky was the first to dash off, Steve once again shadowing him, until he jumped onto another bus, took that for a while, got off and then walked and walked and walked some more, until he somehow found a small and dirty little deserted stretch of beach. It was there that Bucky finally tossed his backpack to the ground, waded into the ocean until the water was to his knees, and started screaming.

 

He screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed. He cursed the world, god, every single human being on the planet, pulling at his hair and kicking at the waves. He howled his fury, his rage, his pain and humiliation at the sea, while she met him at her coast and made his roars her own.

 

It took him hours, until there was nothing left of him but an empty husk, burned out from within. And then he collapsed to his knees, hunched over himself, and started to sob.

 

Then he pulled every bit of super soldier, every ounce of that goddamned serum they had injected into his veins to his core, and hauled himself to his feet. He made his way over to his rucksack, lifted it to his shoulder, and started trudging back the way he came. He walked until he found a roadside motel, a small roach- and rat-infested shithole, got a key in exchange for a fistful of dollars, and stumbled up to the third floor and into the crusty, filthy little room he had been given, collapsing face first onto the bed.

 

He repeated the exact same process over the next two days.

 

Steve didn’t say a word to him the entire time, only followed, keeping his promise and standing sentry while Bucky let himself shatter and explode. The only time he ever interfered was when it came to food.

 

When Bucky came to that first morning, Steve was already awake, staring out of the grimy window and into the parking lot below, sipping from a cup of coffee. Hearing Bucky stir, he turned to glance at him and then titled his head to the small bedside table, where there was another cup of coffee, two bottles of Gatorade, and three boxes from Dunkin Donuts.

 

“Eat that. You need it,” was all he said in a gentle voice, before he turned and resumed his staring out of the window. He could have ordered Bucky, pulled his Captain persona around him like a shield. But he was smart enough to know that any orders would have likely had the opposite effect of what he was hoping for, so instead he made it a request, a voiced concern that was easier for Bucky to accept at that point.

 

Bucky reached for the food, and without even bothering to brush his teeth, devoured everything that had been put in front of him, before he gulped down the two bottles of Gatorade, took a piss, grabbed his backpack, and went back to the beach.

 

That night it was three pizzas that Steve somehow managed to find. The following morning it was bagels with cream cheese, and then Quarter Pounders with cheese, fries and milkshakes from McDonalds. The third morning it was more doughnuts and Gatorade. An additional meal wasn’t necessary at that point, because that afternoon, Bucky let out one last scream, one last howl, and then trudged back to the mucky dune where Steve was sitting, and instead of picking up his backpack, collapsed on top of it, breathing deep, shaking breaths because finally it was over. He was done, even though he now knew that he had to begin the process of pulling all of his pieces back together.

 

“Bucky?” Steve cautiously ventured after a few moments of silence.

 

“Yeah?” Bucky managed to breathe out.

 

“What’s up?”

 

It took Bucky a minute to remember the words and how to string them all together with a voice that was as broken as glass, and just as sharp as it cut through his throat.

 

“Ready to go home now,” he finally said.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“’Kay. Whenever you’re ready Buck. No rush.” Steve told him.

 

“’Kay.”

 

***

 

It took another forty-five minutes before Bucky was able to get to his feet, pick up his backpack and begin the long trip home. On the final leg of their journey, he once again made his way to the back row of the bus, where he collapsed, and closed his eyes, knowing that Stevie would be there, watching his six, making sure he was safe.

 

As soon as they made it back to 52nd Street and through the row house door, Bucky dropped his backpack to the floor, and began the long, arduous climb up the three flights of stairs and into the bathroom. He stripped himself of his clothes, climbed into the tub, and took a shower, hot but not scalding this time, stumbled into his room, dressed himself in clean clothes and fell into his bed.

 

He slept for eighteen hours.

 

When he finally made his way back down into the kitchen, Steve was already waiting for him, with a huge bowl of spaghetti and meat sauce, and a steaming cup of peppermint tea with honey.

 

“How ya doing Buck?” he asked when Bucky sat down.

 

“Better,” Bucky answered, lowering his face so that it was concealed by his hair. “But I still feel like shit.”

 

“Yeah, I figured you would,” Steve said as he placed a tub of shredded parmesan in front of him. “But eat that. You know it’ll help. If it’s too much, I’ve got a box of Saltine crackers you can eat until your stomach settles.”

 

“This is good.” Bucky reached for his fork and slowly started to make his way through the pasta. Steve went to sit in the seat next his, his own plate in his hands, and Bucky couldn’t help it, he flinched. Close, it was too close, too close, and even though Steve was safe, he was so big, and Bucky still felt weak and vulnerable. Steve paused, and Bucky knew his eyes had narrowed, but it was only for a second before Steve moved away and instead sat across from him.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he eventually asked about halfway through their meal. Bucky shook his head. There was no way he could even begin to put into words what he had been through.

 

_They raped me Steve. They took everything, everything from me, and it still wasn’t enough. They commanded me to bend over a table while they stood behind me and shoved their dicks up my ass, because they knew I couldn’t stop them, wasn’t even there to try and stop them. They took from me something I had never given to anyone else. But hey, it wasn’t so bad because it was only three of them. I’ve had over two dozen handlers over the past seventy-five years and it was only ever three of them who did that to me, and isn’t that a fucking kick to the nuts, because it could have been worse. And speaking of nuts, I don’t think mine are ever going to work again, because I just got that back, and they stole that from me again too, because the thought of being near anyone, letting anyone ever touch me again, even myself, makes me want to fucking vomit. So fuck no, I don’t want to talk about it. But hey, thanks for asking._

“Okay Bucky,” Steve said quietly. “But you know I’m here right? And that you can tell me anything, if you ever need to talk about it.”

 

“Yeah Stevie, I know,” Bucky said, pushing his plate to the side. It was suddenly a lot less appetizing than it had been just a few moments ago. “And I think I’m going to need some of those saltines in a few minutes.” Then he was scrambling to the kitchen sink, where he leaned over and heaved up what little food he had just managed to eat.

 

***

 

It took a couple of weeks before Bucky felt like anything close to resembling normal. He couldn’t sleep, his nights filled with vivid and horrid nightmares, had trouble keeping any food down, and anytime Steve came anywhere less than two feet near him, he couldn’t help but flinch away. He hated his own body, and found it nearly impossible to shower, when even his own touch on his skin made him shake. But probably the worst of it all was that no matter what he did, no matter how many cups of hot tea he drank, or how many layers of clothes he wrapped himself in, he couldn’t get warm. Even with May’s warmer temperatures, he still shivered and shook from the cold. He had actually spent one night sitting on the kitchen floor with the oven turned on, his back pressed against the door, trying to absorb the heat through his skin. Steve spent that night sitting across from him, making sure to keep plenty of space between them, reading Good Omens to Bucky, a book by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett, who had quickly become authors from this time that they both enjoyed. He even went so far as to use different voices for the different characters, and Bucky wanted to weep with gratitude and throw his arms around Stevie in thanks. If only he could bear to be touched.

 

Because Steve, Steve was being amazing. So kind and thoughtful and unbelievably patient with every single one of Bucky’s new quirks (phobias) and fears. He never came too close and always announced his presence whenever he entered a room where Bucky was.  When he saw how Bucky was always shivering, he never questioned it, but instead purchased two electric blankets, one for Bucky’s bedroom, and one that he left in the Lay-Z-Boy so Bucky could curl under it late at night while they watched TV. He also started running Bucky’s clothes through the dryer at all times, even his dry ones, so that when he noticed Bucky was shaking he could hand him a warm hoodie or sweat shirt that heated Bucky’s skin. When Bucky couldn’t sleep, he took him out for runs, where he took the lead, and led them on a long and grueling course that pushed the both of them to their limits, so that when they returned to the house, Bucky was able to close his eyes and, at least for a little while, fall into a deep and dreamless sleep.

 

He never questioned, never pressed for more than Bucky could give, and never once criticized. He just adjusted and adapted his strategies, until he found something that worked, and discarded anything that didn’t.

 

Until eventually, eventually, it started to get better. Bucky began to be able to sleep through the night without any dreams. And he could eat again, keeping his food down so that he began to regain the weight he had inevitably lost. He could shower without his hands shaking, and look at his own body without feeling an overwhelming surge of disgust. He even started to feel warm again, so that he was able to shed all of the layers he had been wrapping himself in. He didn’t go back to the newer style he had adapted, returning instead to his earlier wardrobe of looser jeans and baggier long sleeved t-shirts. But he was warm enough now, and a single layer of clothing was enough.

 

Most importantly of all, he stopped flinching whenever Steve was near him, or feeling terrified whenever he came close. He couldn’t bear to touch him or to be touched by him, not yet. But Steve was safe, had always been safe, and Bucky was no longer frightened by any proximity.

 

Steve noticed, and as Bucky eased, so did he. His smiles became looser, and he lost the tightness around his eyes and mouth whenever he looked at Bucky. He started joking with Bucky, and when Bucky joked back, he sighed in relief and started to once more give Bucky shit. He never pushed and he never pressed, and he didn’t reach for Bucky, waiting, always waiting for Bucky to make the first move. But as Bucky slowly started to regain his footing, Steve began to relax, and returned to being Bucky’s friend instead of his protector. It was better for the both of them, but Bucky could tell that even Steve was starting to need a break.

 

So three weeks after Bucky’s breakdown, he urged Steve to get out of the house and head to the Avengers Tower, take a break and spend some time with his friends.

 

“Are you sure Buck?” Steve tripled checked before he even agreed to leave.

 

“Go,” Bucky assured him with a wave of his hand. “Get outta here. You need a break. And I know I sure as shit need a break from looking at your ugly mug.” But Bucky winked at him as he said it, his first wink in what felt like forever, to let Steve know that he was only kidding, that he was grateful, so fucking grateful, for all Steve had done for him.

 

“Yeah, thanks for that,” Steve groused while he checked his pockets for his keys and wallet.

 

“Go annoy Wilson,” Bucky said, as he reached for a plum from the produce bin in their refrigerator. “I’m sure his life has been way too boring without you there to bother him.”

 

“I’ll tell him that you said so.”

 

“You do that.” Bucky took a bite from his plum, enjoying the way the juices tasted on his tongue.

 

“You know I got my phone on me, right? And you can call me if you need anything?”

 

“Yeah Stevie, I know,” Bucky said with a smile. It was small, and it was weak. But it was there. “I meant it when I said I’ll be fine. Now go. Get outta here. I’ll see you later.”

 

“Yeah Buck, you will.” Bucky waved his hand with the plum in it, and then Steve was gone.

 

Five minutes later, Bucky was out the door and heading to his Mami’s house.

 

***

 

Bucky had been texting all of them on a daily basis while he had shut himself in the row house. He hadn’t given them any details, just let them know that he was home and that Steve was taking care of him. But he had begged, pleaded, asking them for a just a little bit more time while he pulled himself together.

 

Joey had responded by sending him an almost constant stream of the most outrageous cat videos and memes she could find, and texting him all of the details about her day.

 

Dewy had kept him filled in on all the daily neighborhood gossip, while sending him picture after picture of little Nina, telling him to come as soon as he could, but only when he was ready, because his goddaughter was missing him.

 

And Lulu sent him short messages, letting him know all of the meals she was going to cook for him when he finally came home, and how much she loved him and missed him, and couldn’t wait to see him again. But to take his time, that it was okay if he needed space, because she loved him, and a mother never stopped loving her children, no matter what they were going through.

 

But when she opened the door to her apartment on the second floor and saw him standing there, her eyes filled with tears, and she reached for him, pulling him into her arms and holding him close. And it was surprisingly okay. She was not a threat, had never been a threat, and for some reason it made her touch acceptable when it still hard not to flinch whenever Steve was near.

 

“Oh Bucky, thank god,” she said, as she ran her fingers through his hair and shared with him the softness of her body. “What happened mijo? What made you have to stay away from us for so long?”

 

“They raped me,” Bucky heard himself say before he could stop himself. “And I didn’t remember, until I did. And then I had a nervous breakdown.” He felt her twitch, just once, before she was tightening her embrace, holding him even closer.

 

Suddenly Bucky was sobbing against her shoulder, holding onto her just as tightly, and whispering the words “Mami, mami, mami,” over and over again into her neck.

 

“But you survived mijo, you survived,” she whispered back to him, and there were tears in her voice as well. “And you’re safe now. You’re safe. No one will ever hurt you like that again. _No one._ I promise you. I will kill them myself before I ever let that happen to you again.”

 

And just like with Stevie, always with Stevie, Bucky believed her.

 

***

 

Joey stomped in a few minutes later, after the both of them had stopped crying and were able to let each other go. She saw Bucky and came racing towards him, but Lulu stepped in front of her and held out her hand.

 

“Easy Josefina. I know you’ve missed him, but he just got back and he’s had a bit of a rough time of it lately. Let your tia know he’s here, and tell her to bring the baby while I get him some food. Nina needs to see her tio and I think he needs to hold her just as much. You can sit on the couch with him in a little bit, all right?”

 

Joey looked like she was about to protest, but then she looked past her grandmother at him, her worry for him as loud in her eyes as her steps had been on the floor.

 

“You okay Bucky?” she asked quietly.

 

“Doing better now Joey,” he said with a small nod.

 

“Okay. I’m going to go get tia and Nina, and then we can watch some TV. I have so much to tell you, but it can wait. I know you’re hungry, because you’re a glutton and god forbid you leave any food for the rest of us.” And then she turned around, and stomped away, heading off to fetch her aunt.

 

“That child,” Lulu sighed with a roll of her eyes.

 

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky said with a laugh, the first real one he had felt in nearly a month. “She’s great.”

 

“Wait until I tell you how I got called to her school because she was caught trying to make the coffee maker in the teacher’s lounge explode, because she said her history professor was a sexist pig who refused to acknowledge that women played just as an important role in history as men.”

 

“I can’t fucking wait.”

 

***

 

After a meal of chuletas and arroz con gondules with a huge side of tostones, Bucky sat on the couch in Lulu’s living room, with Joey pressing herself against his side and Dewy sitting on the floor, resting her shoulder against his knee. She had clicked into the room wearing a new pair of five-inch strappy pink sandals, studded with rhinestones, and draped one of her scarves around his shoulders, while she gave his cheek a kiss. Then, most importantly, she very carefully placed Nina in his arms, and handed him a bottle so he could feed her. The little baby cooed at him, and then suckled from the nipple he held to her lips, before she burped, yawned and then fell asleep. They were watching some strange anime movie, with a round fuzzy creature that Joey informed him was called a Totoro, that was surprisingly sweet and easy to follow. Lulu was there as well, sitting at the other end of the couch, smiling at them, a mother content because her children were once again home.

 

They were just there with him, welcoming him back after he had been away. He knew Lulu hadn’t told any of them about what he had revealed to her. But they each knew him in their own way, how to read him almost as well as Stevie did. And they were soothing him, being gentle, and offering him their warmth, their kindness and their strength, so that he could take from them what he needed, until it was their turn to need and he would be able to give it back.

 

But most importantly, they were offering him touch, soft and easy and nonthreatening. And as he sat there with them, he was able to finally remember that touch was a good thing when offered in love and tenderness, given with full consent. It wasn’t always bad; when shared with the right people, it was a gift and a grace. It could ease pain, provide safety, and when on its own terms, be a way to offer thanks for all of the blessings in a life with those you loved.

 

A great gift, and one that maybe he would be able to share again.

 

***

 

The next morning, when Bucky came down into the kitchen, he had replaced his baggy clothes with his slimmer cut jeans and a tighter long-sleeved t-shirt. It was time to shed his older skin that once again no longer fit, and let himself be who he was becoming. Lulu was right. He had survived and he needed to remember that. It wasn’t going to be easy, but then again, it hadn’t been easy before and it always ended up getting better eventually. He wasn’t going to let HYDRA win, not when he had come this far. He had newer armor now, better armor, and it was time to slowly begin the process of reclaiming what was his.

 

Steve saw him as soon as he entered the kitchen, gave him a quick once over, taking in his clothes, and smiled.

 

“Morning Buck,” he said.

 

Bucky grunted at him, and headed straight for the coffee pot. He may have been feeling better, but that didn’t mean he was willing to speak to anybody before his morning coffee.

 

Steve snorted, but didn’t say anything else until Bucky had drunk two more cups of coffee and made his way through three plates of French toast and bacon.

 

“Are you heading into the city today?” Bucky asked him a little while later.

 

“I was thinking about it, if that’s okay with you?”

 

“Yep,” Bucky said, leaning back in his chair. And then just because he could, because he knew it would piss Stevie off, he burped.

 

“Fucking charming Buck,” Steve grunted at him. Bucky burped again. “All right you shithead. Just because of that, I’m gonna head out right now and you can do the fucking dishes for a change.” In response to that, Bucky burped a third time. “Ugh!” Steve rose from the table and made his way to the door.

 

But before he could leave, Bucky rose as well, and remembering everything his family had done, had given back to him, and all of the grace that touch could be, went over to Steve.

 

“Hey Stevie,” he said.

 

“If you burp in my face, I swear to god Bucky I’m gonna punch you,” Steve said. But he was turning toward Bucky as he said it. Bucky laughed and then he was reaching out with both arms, pulling Steve in for a hug.

 

“I just wanted to say thank you,” he said quietly into his ear, shifting so that Steve could press his face against his neck, which he knew was a place where Steve always found comfort. “For everything. I never would have been able to do any of this without you. And I wanted you to know that no matter where my head is at, I never forget that. So, thank you Stevie. You mean the world to me.” He felt Steve shudder and jerk against his skin, before he tightened his embrace, let Steve take a deep breath, and let him go.

 

When Steve stepped back, his eyes were bright and wet. But he was smiling too.

 

“Anytime Bucky, anytime,” he said. “”Til the end of the line. You know that.”

 

“Always, and right back atcha.” Bucky said, and then shoved Steve toward the door. “Now go and bother Wilson. Show that turkey who’s boss.”

 

Steve’s laugh echoed all the way into the kitchen, long after he had left.

 

***

 

So this was his life now. It was a new life, with new rhythms and new steps. But it was his, and he was going to do his best by it, by all the people in it, who had stood by and helped him, never once abandoning him, and loving him when he could barely even remember what that meant. They had cared for him and now that he was once again strong enough, capable enough, he would return that care and give it to them just as generously as they had given it to him. With open hands and a free heart. Because love was open handed and free, and easy enough to give. He was going to spend the rest of his life giving it back to them, because they were his, and at different times and different points, they were all going to need him, just as he had needed them.

 

His mother and Joey and Dewy and Nina.

 

And Stevie, always, always Stevie. Him probably most of all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings / Spoilers: In this chapter, Bucky remembers being raped while under HYDRA's control, and it sets his recovery back. The recollection is not graphic, but the resulting trauma is devastating for both Bucky and Steve. That said, the chapter ends on an optimistic note, and the next chapter (one of my personal favorites in the entire series) has no trigger warnings associated with it.
> 
> Whatever you decide to do in regards to this chapter, please, please, PLEASE do it safely. I adore you all, and the last thing I would ever want to do is unintentionally hurt someone reading something I've written. **hugshugshugshugs** 
> 
> Next week, we FINALLY get back to Steve's POV.


	9. Explosions

**POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNING**

_In this chapter, Steve reflects on what it's like to discover that someone you love is a survivor of sexual abuse. It's not graphic, but is intense, and once again I wanted to give anyone reading this the opportunity to make their own choices._

  _Also, you'll notice that this chapter is a day early. But it is Thanksgiving here in the United States, and it's a day when we're all supposed to give thanks for the things we're grateful for in our lives. As you'll see in this chapter, Steve is very grateful for Bucky, and I thought it fitting._

 

 

 

 

 

 

There were no words.

 

There were absolutely no words that would fit, that could even begin to wrap themselves around every single thorn and razor blade and venom filled fang that had lodged itself in Steve’s heart as he had been forced to stand by and watch as Bucky’s soul disintegrated in front of his very eyes.

 

_Abhorrence._

_Terror._

_Rage._

_Fury._

 

Those were perhaps the closest words, but they still fell far short from even beginning to give any coherence to what it had been like to bear witness to the agony of Bucky’s soul. Steve twisted and turned in the basement, jabbing his fists in the air and kicking out at invisible enemies as he tried to find some way to release all of the bitter, putrid anger that seethed in his veins.

 

Even worse, to know that this was not the first time. That every time, every single goddamned time Bucky had fled, it had been like that for him. A shrieking madness that had him tearing off into the night, spitting into the dark, unable to recognize kindness, shelter, safety, punishing himself as he howled against the world that had brutalized him.

 

And alone. Before this last time, he had always done it alone, and still managed to somehow drag his pieces back together into something that resembled a whole.

 

No wonder it was so hard for him to even think of contacting Steve when he was like that. How could he. Steve now knew that it took every bit of him to just hold himself together and not forget how to breathe.

 

Sam had said it was like lancing a wound, piercing its skin so all the puss could be drained and the new skin revealed. He had _no idea._

 

What Bucky had done, that had been like watching someone throw themselves into the mouth of a volcano as a sacrifice, hoping to appease the gods. But there had been no joy, no sense of hope, or even a sense of accomplishment once it was done. Just a sense of failure, and a prayer that _please god, please, let it be over._

 

It infuriated him. Because he knew. Bucky hadn’t told him, had not said a word, but Steve didn’t need for him to say the words for him to know what Bucky had remembered. He could read the cues, divine their meaning from all of Bucky’s twitches and flinches, the way he had jerked back from something as simple as Steve holding out a cup of coffee to him.

 

They had raped him.

 

Stolen his soul, wiped his memories, left the very last fragments of him curled up in some far, dark corner of his mind where no one, not even himself, would ever find him. When that wasn’t enough to satisfy them, they had turned his body, which they had already brutalized and mutilated, into nothing more than a plaything to exploit and toy with because they could, because Bucky had not even been aware enough to say no.

 

And Bucky had remembered, and there was not a single goddamned thing Steve could say or do that would make it better, take it away.

 

He had done his research. Once the realization clicked, and after they returned home, he spent his nights sitting up in bed with his tablet on his lap. He kept one ear open, always listening to make sure he would be able to hear even the slightest sound of distress from Bucky’s room, while he searched the internet for resources and information about how to help a survivor of sexual assault.

 

There was a plethora of information, guidance, blogs from survivors, and yet all of it still felt useless as Steve flicked through page after page. Because in reality, there really wasn’t much he could do. All could offer was his support and his companionship, in any way Bucky would agree to accept it. Be patient, be understanding, don’t treat a survivor any differently than you had been, but always be aware that there was now forever a difference in the way they were going to perceive the world. There were going to be triggers, things that set them off, and boundaries that absolutely had to be respected. Be there to listen, if they wanted to talk, but always remember that it was not about you, it was about them, and all you could do was help them in whatever way they asked.

 

Bucky hadn’t asked for much. But then again, he never did. He had spent all his life putting others first; his family, his friends, the men in his unit, Steve, always making sure that their needs were met and taken care of before his own. He hadn’t even left the house, when it was obvious he was desperate to, because he had made a promise to Steve, and even in the state he was in, he was going to put Steve’s heart before his own well-being. All he had really wanted was to be left alone and not be touched.

 

Steve was going to be damned if he let Bucky go through something like this by himself, when he already knew that Bucky was a master at hiding his darkest truths, his deepest pains from those around him. He’d done it during the war, after he’d been captured by Zola and the process of removing his autonomy from him had already begun.

 

But it was a different day, and they were different men, and Steve was going to be damned if he let Bucky deal with this by himself.

 

So he stood and he watched and he studied, doing his best to try to soothe whatever rough edges were catching on the tattered silks of Bucky’s soul. Offering warm blankets and hot cups of tea whenever Bucky shivered in his inescapable cold. Never said a single word, no matter how much he ached or wanted to weep when Bucky moved away, as if Steve would ever lay a hand on him. Took him for runs when he could feel Bucky’s bones vibrating in his skin from even three floors away. Tried to help him keep food down, offering him saltine crackers and peppermint tea whenever Bucky couldn’t stop himself from vomiting. Said nothing when Bucky climbed up onto the roof late at night to sneak the cigarettes Bucky wasn’t aware Steve knew he smoked. And kept himself from sobbing when he saw how Bucky had regressed, how he started covering himself in layer upon layer of clothes, trying to hide, to make himself invisible, when he had finally just started to bloom.

 

It was awful.

 

He swallowed it down, forcing all of it into a tiny, tight ball of seething pulsing anger at the base of his guts. He said nothing, did nothing, just stood by Bucky’s side, when what he had really wanted to do more than anything was take Bucky into his arms, hold him close and brush his fingers through his hair, while he swore to him that it was all right. He was safe now, no one was ever going to hurt him again, and Steve was going to keep him safe.

 

But it wasn’t all right, and it never would be. Because once again someone had hurt Bucky, and Steve had not been there to stop it.

 

It still wasn’t all right, even as it became obvious that Bucky was slowly starting to recover. He was smiling again, joking with Steve, and wearing those new clothes of his, that suited him so much better than the older ones he had worn when they first started to circle each other in their dance of getting reacquainted. He had returned to pulling his hair back from his face, keeping his food down and sleeping through the night.

 

And then there had been that morning, more than three weeks after that awful night when Steve had come home to find Bucky curled up in a little ball in the dark in this very basement, telling him to go, giving him permission to leave, to breathe, to take some time for himself. He pulled Steve into his arms, his strong, warm arms, and pressed Steve’s face against his neck, letting him breathe in those scents of cinnamon and clove, that Steve now knew wasn’t his shampoo, but just the essence of Bucky, spicy and sweet and alive, and actually _thanked him._

 

Steve had never wanted to let him go. He wanted to cling to Bucky forever and apologize for every single thing that had ever happened to him, for every single time Steve hadn’t been there. Keep Bucky locked in his arms forever, where Steve knew he would always be safe.

 

Bucky would have probably punched Steve in the teeth if he had known. But well, there were still a lot of things that Bucky apparently didn’t know, despite how insightful he could be.

 

Because it wasn’t enough, it would never be enough. Even after Erskine’s serum, and his new body, its endless strength, and all of his sacrifices to the world, it seemed none of it had worked. HYDRA was still out there, weakened it was true, but still there. There were still evils in the world, and innocents getting hurt. Politicians who cared more about their paychecks and power than the people they were sworn to protect. All Peggy’s determination and her life’s work had ended up being nothing more than a host for a nest of corruption. And even Sam’s kind heart and endless patience couldn’t keep a fellow soldier from killing himself. The world was still as fucked up as it had ever been, and it felt as if nothing the Avengers did, nothing he did, would ever make it any better.

 

Steve found himself filled with self-loathing and self-hatred as he struck out at the air. Because what was the fucking point of it all if you couldn’t even keep your closest friend, the one whose heart had always been the best part of your own, safe in a world that was so much better simply because he was a part of it.

 

Steve jabbed and punched at the air, kicking out, striking upward, searching for the burn, the tipping point that would give him a release, that would force it back to where all his own rage had finally boiled up from, when there was a creak behind him, a shiver in the air. He turned, striking out with his fist, only to find it blocked and held immobile by a metal one, Bucky standing there, staring at him.

 

He didn’t say a word, just stood there, his head cocked slightly to the side, his eyes boring into Steve’s. He held Steve’s trembling, clenched fist perfectly still in his left hand, and said nothing.

 

They remained in that position, Steve shaking and Bucky absolutely motionless, for several, long, heavy stilted seconds. Then Bucky shifted slightly, pulling back a mere millimeter, before he shoved Steve away and in a low, flat voice said, “Let it out.”

 

And then he swung.

 

Steve dodged and swung back. And _oh fuck_ , Bucky was fast, because he stepped out of the way and struck again. He kicked Steve’s knee out from beneath him, sending him stumbling to the floor, and then stood over him, his head once again cocked, staring down at him.

 

“That all you got, _Stevie_?” he asked in that same tone of voice. Steve growled and lunged forward.

 

His fists flew, his feet kicked, and his knees slammed into any bit of flesh they could find. He punched, and he jabbed, and he pounded, he threw every bit of his strength and his speed, all of his anger and rage at his opponent. Flesh and blood, sweat and bone, muscles and skin, he threw all of it, every last bit of himself into the fight and roared out all of his rage.

 

Bucky met him blow for blow, strike for strike, and thrust for thrust. They had never done this, never come together like this before, challenging each other with their own unique set of skills. They had trained together, but never sparred. But Bucky could take every single one of Steve’s attacks, block it, and counter it with one of his own.

 

And so they danced.

 

But where Steve was fueled with anger and rage, his vision red and nerves ablaze with fire, Bucky was cool, calm and still. The winter of his namesake, using all of the icy precision he had been known for in only the most secret of circles to keep his focus and control the fight.

 

Steve had bright flashes of clarity where he realized that Bucky wasn’t attacking him, not really. He was dodging more than he struck, slipping away and turning, to make Steve twist in his steps and fight even harder to try to land a blow. He blocked with his metal arm, whose plates were finally whirring and shifting, constantly using his feet to knock Steve off balance so that he stumbled and had to struggle to keep up.

 

He wasn’t fighting Steve, but he was offering him a target, one that could take everything Steve threw at him and then provoke him into coming back with even more.

 

Once Steve realized this, instead of pulling back, it only urged him on, and he finally, _finally_ let it all go. Punching, pounding, kicking, slamming, again and again and again and again, for hours until there was nothing left but the sweat on his skin, and a final, shivering release in his heart.

 

It ended as it began. Steve turned around to throw one last punch, his fist of flesh and bone being met and clasped by one of metal and circuitry, held frozen in the air.

 

“You done?” Bucky asked, perfectly calm, as if they hadn’t just spent the last couple of hours with Steve trying to beat the shit out of him. Steve blinked, gasping for breath, sweat and tears burning in his eyes, unable to form any words. So he nodded instead. Bucky stared at him, his gaze sharp, before once more, for one last time, he twisted and kicked out with his leg, with enough force this time to send Steve crashing to the ground, sprawled on his back.

 

Bucky stepped to Steve’s side, staring down at him, while Steve panted and gasped on the floor, studying him.

 

“You staying down this time?” he eventually asked.

 

“Yeah Buck,” Steve managed to pant. “I’m down.”

 

“Oh, thank motherfucking god,” Bucky exhaled and then collapsed on the floor next to Steve.

 

They lay there together on their backs, side by side, staring up at the ceiling, their chests heaving, gasping for air as they both tried to catch their breath. Neither of them said a word, neither of them needing to, the house quiet and still around them.

 

“You know,” Steve suddenly heard himself saying, not sure where the words were coming from when he barely had enough energy to blink. “I was a sick fucking kid without a dad who grew up in the fucking slums with barely enough to eat. But I had a mom who loved me, and the best fucking friend in the world. I saw a lot of shit growing up and I used to think that if I was just bigger, just stronger, I could somehow make a difference, make it better. And then we end up going to war and I wasn’t even good enough for that. But I get this chance, see, this one in a million opportunity to do everything I wanted to do, help make things right, and I take it. I ended up with this new body and all of this strength and suddenly I can do it. I can go to war, fight the good fight and stop the Nazis. Except when I get there, it ain’t the Nazis we gotta fight, it’s something even worse. But I’m strong enough to do it, and I got the best fucking team in the world to back me up, including my best friend, so it’s all right, you know? We’ll get it done. Except it never fucking stops, it just gets worse. I find out there’s shit out there that nobody could have ever imagined and I watch my best friend die. And it still doesn’t stop. So I get on this plane, with this fucking bomb on it, and I have to fight this fucking lunatic who wants to end the world, because hey, why not. Then I take the plane and crash it into the Arctic, knowing it’s gonna kill me, but thinking it’s all right. I’ve done what I’ve needed to do, and I made a difference. If this is the price I have to pay, then it’s fucking worth it.” He stopped and swallowed, his throat clicking with its dryness. By his side, he felt Bucky shift slightly, turning his head to stare at him with those sky blue eyes of his, bright and clear.

 

“And then I wake up seventy fucking years later in a fake hospital room in the middle of Times Square, and there’s this guy there, this Nick Fury. He’s telling me that they need me, that the world still needs Captain America and there’s more work I gotta do. And I think yeah, all right, it needs to be done and I can do it.  So I go to work and I start fighting again. But now I’m in this new fucking world that doesn’t make any goddamned sense and nobody even gives a shit about that as long as I’m doing what they want me to. And it’s the same motherfucking shit as it always was, but now there are aliens and men in robot suits, green things that like to smash, and princes from other dimensions with hammers that shoot lightning. The woman I loved and wanted to marry is dying and doesn’t even remember me half of the time, and the organization she created to fight this shit is filled with all of those motherfuckers I sacrificed myself for to stop, and that idiot who recruited me doesn’t even have a fucking clue. Same shit, different fucking day.” Steve ran a hand over his forehead, wiping away the sweat as he pushed back his hair.

 

“But I’m trying, you know, I’ve got to give it a shot. They set me up in this nice apartment in DC and I start seeing my neighbor, this beautiful woman Katie, and it’s not too bad. Except I find out that this woman is actually named Sharon and somebody Fury set up to spy on me, and even better, she’s the niece of the woman I was going to marry. Then to top it all off, one day I’m on this bridge, after being attacked by the people I was working for, and the best friend I watched die shows up and tries to kill me. He doesn’t even know who I am, because those assholes I thought I’d stopped had captured and brainwashed him, and then tortured him for seventy-five fucking years. And I think okay, maybe I can do this, maybe I can at least make this right. So, I hunt him down and bring him home while my friends, _who have not a single fucking clue_ _what it’s like for me_ , give me shit about it. But I don’t give a damn, because he was my friend before they were even born, and what the fuck do they know about any of it. And it takes a lot, it takes a hell of a lot, but every time, every single goddamned time I think things are finally going to get better, something else happens and it just starts up all over again. I still gotta go out there and fight, my friend is probably going to have nightmares for the rest of his life, and it just doesn’t stop. It never fucking stops and it’s never enough and nothing I do will ever make it right.” Steve sighed, empty, exhausted and finished.

 

“I’m fucking tired Buck,” he finally admitted. “I’m so goddamned fucking tired.”

 

Next to him, Bucky was quiet. But he was there, steady and still, his gaze never wavering, his presence the constant it had always been, a shadow that wasn’t a shadow, Steve’s first and truest shield. Steve turned his head to meet his gaze and watched as Bucky blinked once, twice and then again, before he looked away, staring up at the ceiling.

 

“I shot a toilet.”

 

“What?” Steve asked.

 

“I shot a toilet.”

 

“What the hell are you talking about, Bucky?”

 

“’Bout two weeks after the helicarriers, after I began to remember myself and decided I wasn’t going back, I was in a truck stop, somewhere in North Carolina I think. I was in the bathroom taking a shit –“

 

“Thanks for sharing that.”

 

“Shut up Stevie and let me finish. Anyway, I had done what I’d gone in there to do, and was bending over to pull up my pants. Except I didn’t know about those automatic toilet things back then, and when I bent down, the toilet flushed, and scared the crap outta me, what was left of it anyway. I pulled out my gun, turned around and shot the stupid fucking thing before I realized it was just the toilet flushing. Didn’t even finish zipping up my pants. Just grabbed my bag and bolted out the window. Never did find out what they thought had happened in there.” Bucky finished. Steve could only stare at him wide eyed, not able to believe what he’d just heard. Bucky glanced at him and then shrugged. “So, you know, you’re not the only one fucked up things have happened to.”

 

Steve burst out laughing. He couldn’t have stopped himself even if he wanted to. It bubbled up and flowed out him as if it had always been there, just like his rage, waiting to be released. He laughed so hard his stomach hurt, and he had to roll onto his side and curl up into a ball to prevent his muscles from cramping any further. Bucky was watching him from the corner of his eye, a small smile on his face, before he giggled and joined in on Steve’s guffaws.

 

“Holy shit,” Steve managed to gasp.

 

“Literally.”

 

And then the both of them were curled up, howling on the floor. Steve had no idea how long it lasted, only that when they were done, once they had finally stopped, he could breathe again.

 

“Microwave popcorn,” he said a few minutes later.

 

“What?” It was Bucky’s turn to ask.

 

“Mine was microwave popcorn,” he explained. “The first time I went to Sam’s apartment. We were going to watch a movie, some film Sam said I just had to see, I don’t even remember what it was now. He went into the kitchen to make some popcorn, except I didn’t know about microwaves back then. He came back out and was saying something, when all of a sudden I hear this _pop-pop-pop_ sound that I coulda sworn was gunfire. I dive bombed over the couch, threw him to the floor and started looking around for the shooter, while Sam’s shouting _‘what the fuck is wrong with you man? It’s just the fucking popcorn!’_ ” Steve snickered. “He still refuses to make any whenever I come up for a visit.”

 

“What do you guys end up having?”

 

“Nachos.”

 

And just like that, they were off again, laughing at the world, at themselves, and the way the both of them had fucked up at different times. Until it was done, and they were both empty, and it was once more okay for them to just be. They were lying on their backs, quietly breathing, when Bucky finally spoke.

 

“You’ve had a shitty life Stevie,” he said softly. “And I’m sorry for that.”

 

“So have you.”

 

“Yeah, but you deserved better than what you’ve been given, and it sucks what you’ve had to deal with,” Bucky told him. “And you got a right to be angry about it. Don’t let anyone ever tell you any different.” He turned his head and caught Steve’s gaze. “But as the best friend who died and then came back and tried to kill you, I have to say, I’m glad that you’re still here.” He closed his eyes and sighed, turning his face back toward the ceiling.

 

“And it does get better Stevie, it does,” he said in his quiet, raspy voice. “Minute by minute, day by day, it does get better. Especially when you’ve got the right people with you there to stand by your side. Believe me when I tell you that it does.” And then he reached out with his right hand and took Steve’s left into his own, pressing them together, palm to palm, pulse to pulse, and just held.

 

_I love you._

 

The words were there, even if Steve couldn’t say them, truer than they’d ever been.

 

_I’ve always loved you. I will always love you. You make it better. You’ve always made it better. Stay with me. I love you._

 

But Steve didn’t say them, and Bucky didn’t ask for more. Just lay quietly by his side on the floor of their basement, clasping their hands together, neither one of them saying a word.

 

***

 

The moment passed, as they all do, and with a final sigh Bucky let go of Steve’s hand and placed his own on his chest, over his heart.

 

“Do you still want to do it?” he eventually asked.

 

“Do what?”

 

“Be Captain America. Take up the shield,” he clarified. “No one in the world better suited for it, could do it better than you. But you don’t have to if you don’t want to. You do have options Steve.”

 

“Yeah, like what?” Steve asked.

 

“I dunno. Whatever you want. Charity work. Go back to school. Focus on your art. The world’s not going to want you to, but the world can go fuck itself after everything it’s put you through. Or, you know, if you just wanted to disappear, we can do that. I’m good at living off the grid. I can make it happen.”

 

“Where would we go?” Steve considered Bucky’s offer, just for a second. He knew he would never accept it, that Captain America was a big part of who he was, who he had always wanted to be. But he had needed this, needed to release all the pressure and pain that had built up in him ever since he first opened his eyes that day in that fake hospital room in Times Square. Bucky had seen and had given him that, as watchful, intuitive and generous as he had always been. But still, it was fun to entertain the idea.

 

“I dunno. Find an island in the tropics somewhere, set up shop on the beach,” Bucky said. “I hear Puerto Rico’s nice.”

 

Steve snorted. “You just want to go there for the food.”

 

“Well yeah, food’s awesome Stevie.”

 

“Speaking of which, do you think we can head over to Casita Pepe, grab something to eat? That pastelon you fed me the other day was amazing.” He expected Bucky to retort as he usually did, with a sharp _no_. But instead he only continued to lay there quietly, staring up at the ceiling.

 

“Nah, not today,” he said eventually. “It’s late. They’re already closed.”

 

“What time is it?” Steve wondered.

 

“A bit after midnight I think.”

 

“Silver Diner then?”

 

“Yeah, that would work,” Bucky agreed, still staring up at the ceiling. “But first let me go get the sledgehammer, cos there’s a spider on the ceiling.”

 

“There is?” Steve asked. Bucky pointed with his right hand, and when Steve followed with his eyes, he saw it, a daddy long legs right above them. “Ah leave it, they’re harmless.”

 

“Spiders are disgusting Stevie. And their presence anywhere in the row house is a violation of the household accords.”

 

“New addendum?”

 

“Sub clause 56752b, regarding any uninvited intruders into the house.”

 

“You are not going to get the sledgehammer Bucky. And you are not going to shoot it either,” Steve made sure to add.

 

“Spoilsport.”

 

“Asshole.”

 

“Dumbass.” But then Bucky turned to look at him. “You good now?”

 

“Yeah Buck, I am.”

 

“’Kay.”

 

They both continued to lie there, neither of them moving.

 

“So are we going or not?” Steve asked five minutes later.

 

“Yeah, we’re going,” Bucky said. “I’m just waiting for you to get up first.”

 

“Me? Why me? You were the one who threw me to the floor.”

 

“You kicked me in the ass.”

 

“Get up, Sergeant.”

 

“Oh yeah, Captain’s back.” Bucky sat up and clambered to his feet. “It was quiet there for five minutes. Nice while it lasted.” He made his way slowly towards the stairs, hissing as he took the first step.

 

“Ha!” Steve cackled at his back. But then Bucky turned around and saw the way Steve was hunching over himself as he rose, his arms wrapped around his waist as he hobbled after Bucky.

 

“Uh-huh,” he grunted.

 

“Shut up,” Steve mumbled and then winced as he followed Bucky. “Oh fuck, that hurts.”

 

“You’re telling me.”

 

But somehow, very slowly, the two of them managed to limp all the way to the Silver Diner, leaning against each other whenever one of them needed the support.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as I said before, this is not only one of my favorite chapters in the entire series, but also one of my favorite bits of writing that I've ever done. I hope, once you've read it, you can see why. Because seriously, Bucky surprised even me in this chapter as I was writing it, and I ended up loving him even more than before (if that was even possible.) 
> 
> Also, I know a lot of you are all busy with the holiday this week, but as I've had this week off from work, I've been able to do a little more work on The Blooming than I originally thought. And the next chapter is another one I really, really love (although not quite as much as this one). Let me know if you'd be up for an extra chapter this week, and maybe I'll post it on Saturday.
> 
> Anyway, wherever you are in the world, I hope you had a great week. If you feel so inclined, please let me know what you thought of this chapter. Because seriously guys, Bucky shot a toilet. 
> 
> You're welcome.


	10. The Wall

_**Author's Note**  _

_This chapter references things that occured in Chapter 32 of The Taming._

 

 

A few days later, Bucky was back on the roof, watching the early morning clouds shift between purple and pink, while he sipped from a bottle of Malta and smoked one of his cigarettes. He’d only been able to sleep for a few hours, and knowing that just lying in bed would only make it worse, he had gotten up, dressed and went for a walk. There hadn’t been any nightmares or new memories, just a bit of restlessness that told him there would be no more sleep that night. Not wanting to disturb Steve, he headed out into the streets, casually patrolling the neighborhood, before he paid a visit to Senora Perez’s bakery for a cup of Bustelo and two bags of churros. He’d eaten his, and left the second bag on the kitchen counter, next to the pot of coffee he started brewing for Steve, and decided to head up to the roof to sneak a smoke and stare at the sky.

 

Apparently, he hadn’t been as sneaky as he thought. Because when he stepped out onto the roof, he found two cushion covered lawn chairs and a glass topped table, with an ashtray placed dead center, set up not too far from the stairwell wall where he usually sat. Accepting that his cover had been blown, he laughed quietly to himself, and then sat down in one of the chairs, lighting up and leaning back to take in the world.

 

And dammit if those chairs sure as shit weren’t a hell of a lot more comfortable than sitting on the ground. Not as much dust to wipe from his ass when he was done too.

 

Fifteen minutes later, while Bucky was on his second smoke, Steve stepped out onto the roof, carrying a coffee mug and the bag Bucky left for him. He had heard him coming up the stairs, felt Steve moving around beneath him in his bones, in that way he had always been able to for all of his life, and since Steve already knew about the smoking and Bucky’s rooftop hidey hole, Bucky didn’t bother to put out his cigarette. He merely nodded, and then gestured with his head for Steve to join him.

 

He studied Steve as he approached. He was looking better than he had a few days ago, centered and calm, all of his pent-up frustration and rage finally released. It had been building up in him for a while, and of course none of his useless friends noticed. But well, looking after Stevie had always been Bucky’s job, so he had done what he had always done; given Steve an outlet, one he desperately needed if the endless bruises on his own body once they finished were any indication. But it had worked. Steve was back to being Steve. A bossy, interfering know-it-all, but still the best thing in Bucky’s life, his greatest gift, and one that Bucky would never take for granted.

 

Of course, that would probably be a hell of a lot easier if the bastard hadn’t stepped out on the roof wearing nothing more than a thin pair of grey cotton pajama bottoms and a tight white t-shirt, looking like a golden god. Jesus fucking Christ, he only had about an inch and ten pounds on Bucky these days, and Bucky had no problems finding clothes that fit. Bucky wanted to climb him like a tree, licking his skin and whispering all sorts of dirty things into his ear, and never, ever let him go. Until he glanced down and saw that Steve was wearing a pair of flip flops. And okay, that made it a little better. But not by much, because goddammit, the dumbass even had nice feet.

 

He wondered if Steve had plans to visit his teammates today, because Bucky was pretty sure he was going to have to spend a good, long time in shower working that new idea out of his system. Repeatedly. With both hands. He just hoped he still had enough lube.

 

He took another drag from his cigarette, following it up with a sip of Malta as he watched Steve make his way to where he was sitting.

 

“Do you mind?” Steve asked quietly, gesturing to the second chair. There were a lot of questions in those three simple words; not just _Can I sit with you?_ But also, _Can I sit with you now? Do you want me to leave? Is it okay for me to be here with you in your safe space? Can we share this? Do you like the table and chairs or should I have just left it alone?_ So many questions, Steve in his own way trying his hardest to look after Bucky. As if there had ever been anyone who could have possibly done it better. As if there was anyone he would have wanted to share this tiny tar and gravel covered oasis with other than Stevie.

 

“Not at all,” Bucky said with a shake of his head, watching as Steve placed his mug and the churros on the table and then sat down.

 

“Thanks for this,” Steve said as he opened the bag.

 

“Thanks for the chairs,” Bucky responded, leaning forward to put out his cigarette.

 

Steve crinkled his eyes at him around a mouthful of coffee. “Yeah. Figured these would be easier on your old ass than sitting on the ground.”

 

“Still better looking than yours.” And okay, that was a total lie, but still, Steve didn’t need to know that. His head was already big enough as it was. Steve snorted in response, took a bite of churro and another sip of coffee, before he leaned back in his chair, joining Bucky in his perusal of the sky.

 

“You used to come up here all the time when we lived here before, when it was too hot or you just needed some space. Used to say it helped clear your head.”

 

“Yeah, I remember that.” Bucky took another sip of Malta. It had warmed up some, but he still enjoyed its thick, sticky bitter-sweetness on his tongue.

 

“Does it still help?” Steve was already on his second churro. Bucky was glad he had made sure to double their usual order with the way Steve was making his way through them.

 

“It does.” Bucky nodded once. “It’s quiet, you know, peaceful. I like coming up here and looking at the sky.”

 

“It is pretty,” Steve agreed around a swallow of coffee. But then he glanced at Bucky out of the corner of his eyes. And oh boy, there went Bucky’s peaceful morning. Because he knew that look, remembered it from both then and now, and it meant that Captain Can’t Mind My Own Business and Keep My Mouth Shut was going to make a pronouncement. Bucky lit up another cigarette in an effort to gird his loins. It took less than ten seconds to be proven correct.

 

“So, a couple of addendums to the household accords,” Steve announced.

 

“Here we go,” Bucky groaned, leaning back in his seat, which was suddenly a lot less comfortable than it had been a minute ago.

 

“Bucky can smoke as much as he wants, and Steve won’t say anything about it, as long as he only does it on the roof, or in the back lot,” Steve said. Bucky sighed; it made sense, and it was a fair request. It wasn’t as if it would change anything really. Bucky hadn't been smoking inside, but now that his secret was out, Steve was being reasonable about it. They had done a lot of work on the house, were more than two thirds of the way done. All that was left were the two rooms on the main floor, the stairs leading up to the second floor, as well as the ones to the basement, whatever they finally decided to do with the front steps, and the lot that was attached to the back of the property. It was a surprisingly large space, mostly cracked pavement and weeds at this point, and they were tossing ideas back and forth. Bucky wanted to pull up the weeds and repave a small section, where they could place two hammocks, turning the rest of it into a garden. Steve agreed with the garden idea, except he thought it should be smaller, and wanted to tile a larger area where they could put out a table and set of chairs, and maybe even a grill, so that eventually they could have people over. They hadn’t come to an agreement, so they were leaving it for now.

 

“That’s fair,” Bucky nodded, taking a sip from his Malta instead of another drag from his cigarette.

 

“I don’t care that you smoke, Buck,” Steve said. “You always have. It don’t bother me none, even the smell, and I’m not going to complain about it. It’s just that smoke stains, and with all the work we’ve done on the house, we don’t need to be dealing with that.”

 

“Agreed.”

 

“Second addendum,” Steve went on.

 

“Oh god, there’s more?”

 

“Bucky will share those Thin Mint cookies he found,” Steve declared.

 

“Oh hell no!” A few weeks back, when Bucky had stopped to grab some pizzas for dinner, Elena had informed him her little sister was a Girl Scout, and would he be interested in buying some of the cookies they had for sale, since it was for a good cause and would help her little sister earn another badge. Bucky had bought one box of every variety available, gone home and sampled each, then went back the very next day and purchased five more packages of the Lemonades, and all of the remaining boxes of the Thin Mints. It hadn’t been easy, lugging twenty-five boxes of cookies through Sunset Park, but he had managed. The cookies were damn worth it. Steve had come home just as Bucky was taking a break from varnishing the stairs, enjoying a cup of coffee and some of the Thin Mints. Steve had snatched one, shoving it into his big fat mouth, his eyes going wide, and then reached for another, and another, and then another, before Bucky found himself doing something he never had before, and snatched the plate away with a growl. Steve had laughed, reaching for another cookie with his stupid, greedy fingers, but for the first time in his life, Bucky did not feel like sharing. Those were his cookies, dammit, Steve could get his own.

 

Later that night, while Steve was in the shower, Bucky had gone back down into the kitchen, taken the cookies from where he’d hidden them in the cabinets, and stashed them throughout the house. He kept most of them stockpiled in his room, but he put a few boxes where he kept some of his guns, because if he ever had to run for his life, he was going to make damned sure it was with his guns and a box of those cookies.

 

“Those are amazing Buck, and I know you got more boxes stashed somewhere in the house,” Steve went on as if Bucky hadn’t spoken. “You can share.”

 

“I can, but I won’t.”

 

“Seriously Sarge?” Steve said. _Ha,_ like that was going to work on him. “You can’t share some of those cookies with your former Captain and childhood best friend?”  

 

“Pulling rank like that is a good way to ensure that you will never get any cookies, _Cap,_ ” Bucky countered.

 

“Please?” And oh he was such a little shit, leaning back and looking at Bucky all wide eyed and innocent. Bucky had never been able to resist that expression when Steve pulled it in the past. But then Bucky remembered the scar from the bullet wound on his left ass cheek from one of the last times he had fallen for Steve’s bullshit, and felt himself frowning.

 

“You can have some of the Do-Si-Dos. And the Samoas. And maybe a box of the Lemonades,” he conceded. “But not the Thin Mints.” A man had to have his limits after all, and apparently the Thin Mints were Bucky’s.

 

“You’re such an asshole Bucky,” Steve laughed. “I’ll get them outta you yet.”

 

“You can try dumbass,” Bucky groused. But then he laughed, because it was just so them. Easy and comfortable in the early morning air, as the June sunshine made its slow way across the roof. Just the two of them giving each other shit, like they always had. “Are you done?”

 

“No Bucky, I’m not,” Steve said, the undertone in his voice pricking at Bucky’s ears, demanding that he stop whatever he was doing and turn all his attention fully on Steve. That had been Steve’s intent all along, because once he saw that Bucky was looking at him, that he had his complete attention, he lowered his mug, and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

 

“Bucky will let me repaint all of the walls in his room. Especially the one over his bed.”

 

Bucky should have known better, he really should have. Steve had always been a master strategist, and he knew how to distract and corral any opponent he took on, easing them into a false sense of security before he struck. And when he finally did, it was always with a killing blow.

 

And there went Bucky’s morning, with all its laughter and teasing and golden summer sunshine, the prick in Steve’s voice now the spindle’s kiss at his fingertip, pulling him down into the dark.

 

“You went into my room.”

 

It was a redundant statement. The first time Bucky had gone back into his room to change out of his gear after he had finally returned, he had known Steve had been in there. Nothing had been disturbed, but he could sense it in the air, the floors, the walls, the way he could whenever there was the slightest change to any part of the house. This house was his safety, his shelter, and in exchange for that, Bucky had allowed it, every nook and cranny, to imprint itself on his psyche. He sometimes wondered if when he died, his soul would come back here, back to these same hallways and rooms, where it had first returned to him, new bones for himself to wrap around, silent and still, finally, finally, finally silent and still.

 

But even the house was not immune to Steve, who had never encountered a crack he couldn’t resist sticking his hand into, or a rock he didn’t want to turn over to look at all of the bugs and dirt beneath.

 

“Yeah Buck, I did.”

 

“You had no right to do that.” Bucky was on his feet, hadn’t even realized he had risen until he heard the crash of the chair behind him. Steve remained as he was, sitting in his own chair, those blue eyes of his boring into Bucky’s, the steely resolve and determination within them immovable against the flaring fires Bucky could feel in his own.

 

“Yeah Buck, I did,” he said again, just as calmly as he had before. “When you disappeared the last time, I was outta my mind with worry. I tried everything I could think of to find you, and when nothing worked, I went into your room, looking for a clue, hoping there might be something in there to tell me where I might be able to find you. There wasn’t, but imagine my surprise when I did see what you had done to the place.”

 

The wall. The wall. The Wall. He was talking about the Wall, where in fits and starts, bits and pieces, the Bucky he had been when he first returned, the Asset that was no longer under HYDRA’s control, and the Bucky he’d been slowly evolving into had all stood together and mapped out a timeline of death. Over seventy years of not only torture, his mind being wiped, his soul destroyed and his body stolen from him. But of murder. Seventy-five years of murder when all of HYDRA’s brutal modifications, training, erasure of his self to create something in their image, was turned outward and released into the world. Victim after victim after victim. Kill after kill after kill after kill. So fucking many of them, and he the hound of hell HYDRA had unleased time and time again upon the world.

 

That Wall, with its list of cities and tallies beneath each, was the _who_ of him. His truth. Because he may have once been Steve’s childhood best friend, his Sergeant, and second in command. And they were certainly friends again now. But for almost seventy-five years, seventy-five fucking years, he had been an assassin, HYDRA’s mewling little bitch of murder and mayhem, and if time counted for anything, then those were the years that would always matter the most.

 

He had needed them. Needed to know what he had done and how often he had done it. So he had pulled and ripped at himself, reaching deep within and letting the Asset have its way, its own pain and its own memories, until they were able to step back, take a look at the Wall, and see all that they had done.

 

So many victims. So many people in so many cities. So many deaths.

 

And all at his hands.

 

They had wiped him, after each and every one of his kills. And the pain of it, the absolute agony of blood cells and neurons exploding in his brain, his eyes, his flesh and bones was not enough, would never be enough to mitigate what he had done at their command. They had wanted no witnesses to what they had ordered, not even their own. But Bucky had remembered, and now that he had, he knew that he could never, would never, should never forget.

 

So there it all was, on the Wall. The first thing he saw every morning when he woke up, and the last thing he gazed upon every night before he fell asleep.

 

“You shouldn’t have gone in there,” Bucky heard himself saying.

 

“No, I think I needed to,” Steve countered easily, too easily. It was another feint; he was going to come back again, with yet another blow, even lower and sharper whenever he did finally decide to strike. “Especially when I saw that wall.”

 

“No you didn’t Steven. You said it was my space, that I would be safe and have privacy and could do whatever I wanted to with it. In that very first letter, that’s what you said, what you promised me.”

 

“Yeah, and I meant exactly that Bucky,” Steve said. “It supposed to be your _safe space_. So you tell me, tell me how it’s safe when whenever you go in there, that’s the first and last thing you see. Huh? Tell me.”

 

“Because I need to remember!” Bucky shouted. It was his turn to rage, to howl, to shout into the wind. “Because that’s me Steve. That’s me. For over seventy-five years, that’s who I was! Who I still am! And no nice house in Brooklyn or wishing it would go away is going to make it any different!”

 

“Bullshit,” Steve said, slowly rising from his chair. But his voice remained the same, as calm and implacable as it had been since he first stepped out onto their roof. It may have been Bucky’s turn to rage, but that just meant it was Steve’s turn to be the center of their storm. The bitter and endless fabric of their lives, that they had somehow started knotting themselves into when they were just six and seven years old. “That’s not who you are. It’s never been who you are. I’ve said it to you a thousand times and I’ll say it to you a thousand more. What they did to you, what they made you do, it was not your fault.”

 

“I still did it Steve. They told me to go, and I did. I hunted those people down and when I found them, I pulled the trigger. Me. I did that. I killed those people. I murdered them.”

 

“It wasn’t you Bucky, it never was,” Steve denied. He was refusing to see, refusing to listen, and it was obvious he still did not understand who or what he had invited into his home.

 

“You have no idea,” Bucky hissed.

 

But then Steve surprised him. “You think I don’t know Bucky?” he said, abandoning the table and coming to stand in front of him. “You think I didn’t see it? I’ve known you your entire life. You think I didn’t know that there were two of you in there when you first came back?” Steve lifted his hand and tapped his head, the way Bucky used to when he had sometimes tried to explain what was going on inside of him to Steve. “Because I did Buck. I could see it, clear as day. It was like watching two very different people fighting over the same body. There was you, and the other you, _the Winter Soldier_.” It was the first time Steve had ever said the name aloud in front of Bucky, the first time he had ever given voice to the part of him Bucky had worked so hard to simultaneously hide and make fit. “And you may not remember, but I spent a lot of time getting to know that part of you. And he spent a lot of time getting to know me, while he kept you safe.” Bucky stepped back, nearly stumbling over his own feet, shocked by what Steve was telling him. “But that was then Bucky, and it ain’t now. Because I’ll tell you something else. I haven’t seen that part of you in months. And not because it’s gone, I know it’s not. It’s because the two of you have finally come together. You’ve fused, and I know it’s not over, and there’s still shit we’re going to have to deal with, and yes Bucky _us_ , not just you, but it’s pretty much done I think. You’re who you are, who you’re meant to be, and there’s no going back at this point. It’s too late for that. But that’s okay as far as I’m concerned, because who you are right now is pretty fucking amazing.”

 

“I still did it Steve, I still killed all of those people.” He was angry, caught in the swirl of his own rage, but now in the heart of it there was also all of his despair, grief and remorse. So much remorse, an infinity of it, never ending and as vast as the universe. “I need to remember that.”

 

“Have you remembered?” Steve asked. “All of it?”

 

And for the first time since all of this had started, since Steve walked out on the roof, Bucky looked away and closed his eyes.

 

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I think so.” He was pretty sure he had remembered them all, that there were no more cities or tallies left for him to add to the Wall. There had been a few more since he had moved back from Rochester, bringing his death count up to an even higher number, surrendered to him in dreams and memories whose accompanying tears he had hidden from Steve. But he was mostly certain that it was done, that there were no more bodies left whose deaths bore his name. But it was more than enough.

 

“Then let it go.”

 

“What?” Bucky jerked upwards and back, staring at Steve, who was looking at him with nothing but compassion in his eyes.

 

“You’ve remembered them. You’ve remembered everything that HYDRA made you do. You’re never going to forget it. But let it go Bucky, because it wasn’t your fault.”

 

“Of course it was!”

 

“Do you remember what you said to me Bucky? Three days ago when we were down in the basement?”

 

“I said a lot of things that night Steve.”

 

“You said I had a shitty life, that you were sorry about that and that I deserved better.” Steve paused then, and took another step, coming even closer. “But I’m not the only one. You’ve had a really shitty life too Bucky, really fucking shitty. Even worse than mine. And it’s not fair, because you didn’t deserve that either. And in this shitty, fucked up world, you’ve always been one of my safe spaces. Let me give you back one of yours.”

 

Bucky shook his head, frowning. Steve did not understand, could never understand. He needed that Wall, needed it to remind him of who he was and all of the horror his very existence had perpetrated. If not for him, that Wall would not exist. And if not for that Wall, he would not be who he was now.

 

“Did you ever think Buck,” Steve went on, still pressing the point, countering and coming back with another argument, another point of view. He probably had a list of reasons why Bucky should listen to him, accept his reasoning, and would keep throwing them at him until Bucky caved. But this wasn’t that type of fight, and no matter how many punches or jabs Steve tried to throw, they were not enough, they would never be enough, to make Bucky surrender this, the ugliest and most brutal parts of himself. That was something not even Steve had the right to ask of him. “That maybe the reason why you can’t sleep some nights, or keep having nightmares is because that wall is the last thing you see when you go to bed, and the first thing you look at when you open your eyes?”

 

“Maybe I deserve it then.”

 

“ _Bullshit Bucky!_ ” Steve hissed, sounding angry for the first time during their entire exchange. “What you deserve is a fresh start.”

 

“Oh yeah, cos that’s exactly what an ex-assassin for HYDRA with over eighty kills to his name deserves, a fresh start.”

 

“Yeah well, once we’ve taken care of your room, and you’re ready, _really_ ready to talk about that and all the other shit you know about HYDRA that no one else does, you let me know. Cos I’ve got plans in place for that too.”

 

“Of course you fucking do.” Bucky didn’t even know why he was surprised anymore at this point. Steve was always going to do what he thought was best, whether Bucky agreed with him or not. Bucky was so damned tired all of a sudden. All he had wanted was to smoke a cigarette or two and watch the clouds go by. It had been a nice morning, but now it was all he could do not to choke on the miasma Steve had kicked up into the air. He was not going to listen, and Bucky was done trying to explain. He turned to leave.

 

Steve reached out and grabbed him by his forearm. For an instant, a fleeting second, Bucky had to fight the urge to attack, to strike out, eliminate the threat. But it was just Steve, only Steve, and he had never been a threat to Bucky, not really. And no matter what was going in in his head, Bucky would never do anything deliberately to hurt him.

 

“Let go Steve,” he said quietly instead. Steve only tightened his grip.

 

“Six months ago, if I had done this to you, you would have thrown me, probably right off the roof, before I could have stopped you.” Steve glanced down to where his hand was wrapped around Bucky’s arm. “And I can see it. I can see that you want to and that you thought about it. But you didn’t. You thought about it and you stopped yourself. You made a choice and you chose not to hurt me. So you tell me Bucky ,how you’re still what HYDRA turned you into, and don’t deserve a second chance.”

 

“Let go,” Bucky said again, almost wishing he could pull the Asset around him like he used to, so Steve could see what a very fine line he was suddenly walking. Steve heard it, it was obvious he had in the way his eyes narrowed slightly. But he only held still, tightening his grip a fraction more, before he finally let go and stepped back.

 

“Please Bucky, I’m begging you. Let me repaint the walls in your room,” he said, bringing their argument back full circle, the serpent’s head following its tail in the sand. “Please.”

 

Bucky shook his head and turned away, heading toward the stairwell.

 

“Running away?” Steve called after him. Bucky stopped and looked back at him. He was pushing and he pushing hard. If Bucky didn’t get out of there soon, he was going to snap, and Steve would discover that it was very much possible for Bucky to change his mind and throw him off the roof.

 

“Going for a walk,” he answered. And then, just because Steve’s last comment had pissed him off, and he wanted to rub Steve’s face in it, just a little bit, he continued, “But I’ve got my phone on me, and I’ll keep it on. Call me if you need anything.”

 

Or maybe he was maturing and changing, able to recognize this for what it was; a fight. It wasn’t the end of the world and it did not mean that allies were now enemies. It was a disagreement, and he needed to walk away from it. Once he had cooled off, he would come back. But he didn’t need to hurt Steve, who had been hurt enough in his life, in the process. If he could give him nothing else, he could at least assure him of that.

 

From the look on Steve’s face at Bucky’s last glance before he made his way down the stairs, Steve was just as surprised by Bucky’s response as he had been.

 

***

 

“So, what has your Stevie done to piss you off this time?” Lulu asked, sliding a plate of dulce de coco in front of him.

 

“What?” Bucky looked up from Nina’s sleeping face, as he rocked her back and forth gently in the bow of his arms. He saw her practically every day, yet he still couldn’t help but be awed by the miracle of her every time he got to hold her. She was strong and healthy for an infant of her age, without any problems so far. Except for the fact that she was colicky, and would spend hours crying into the night, driving all the family crazy. There wasn’t anything they could do about it, Dewy’s pediatrician had assured them. It didn’t affect her health and she would eventually grow out of it. Until then, they just had to be patient and not blame themselves. It was easier said than done, and Dewy had almost ripped her hair out in exhausted frustration. Until, quite by accident, they had stumbled upon a solution. Because it seemed as if the one thing that worked, the only thing that worked, was if Bucky held her his arms, cradled carefully in his left, where if he made the plates vibrate just right, within a few minutes she would settle, her screeching wails turning into quiet whimpers before she settled into a deep sleep that would last for a few hours until she needed to be fed. Dewy had nearly wept in relief, and Bucky made sure to spend as many evenings as possible rocking Nina to sleep so that the rest of his family could take a break. It wasn’t a hardship spending time with them, with Nina. If he could, he would have held the baby forever.

 

Because his arm, his goddammed motherfucking arm, that had killed and murdered and ripped flesh from bones, could also be used to soothe a colicky baby to sleep. And Nina knew him now, would coo when she saw him, always settling easily into his arms, when she could be fussy if anyone else besides her mother or Lulu tried to hold her. He, his arms, was one of her space spaces, her people, and Bucky would have sold his soul back to HYDRA if it meant that he could keep her forever cradled against his chest, smelling the soft and powdery scent of her baby skin.

 

“What has Stevie done this time to piss you off?” Lulu repeated as she sat down next to him and started pouring the both of them cups of tea.

 

“What makes you think it’s Stevie?” Bucky asked, ignoring the tea so that he could keep both of his arms wrapped around Nina.

 

“Because you have that look on your face you only get when Stevie has done or said something to piss you off,” Lulu said. “And usually because whatever he’s said or done, he’s right and you know it, and you just don’t want to admit it yet.”

 

“Whose side are you on?”

 

Lulu lowered the cup she had been lifting to her lips, placing it back into its saucer, all the while staring at him with a serious look in her dark brown eyes.

 

“I am on whatever side brings you less pain,” she said in all sincerity. “You should know that by now mijo.”

 

“I do, I’m sorry,” Bucky apologized. She waved it off with her hand.

 

“So tell me, what’s he done this time?”

 

“He’s being an interfering know-it-all,” Bucky grumbled, but not too loudly. He didn’t want to do anything that would disrupt Nina’s sleep.

 

“And tomorrow will be Tuesday. What else is new?” Lulu waved her hand again. “Stop avoiding the question.”

 

Bucky sighed. He hadn’t come here to share his troubles with Lulu, at least not this time. He had just wanted a little peace and quiet, and a chance to hold the baby in his arms before he went back and finally faced Steve again. But if he was going to talk to any of them about it, it would be his mother. Joey would automatically take his side, simply because she was his Joey and he was her Bucky, and that’s what they did. Dewy would listen, without care or judgement, and then laugh off anything he said, telling him to just flash his ass, because that would win any argument in the world. But Lulu, she would sit, and she would listen, also without judgement, but she would think about her response, offering her opinion, but never forcing it upon him. She would just provide him with alternative options, a different way of looking at things, and let him make his own choice from there. She was patient and she was wise. And most importantly, she was his mother, and he was her son. He would never doubt that whatever she said, it came from a place of love.

 

“He doesn’t like what I’ve done with my bedroom, and he wants to change it.”

 

“The room he set up specifically for you? Why? What did you do? Did you paint zebra stripes on the walls?” She would not offer judgement, but she would give him humor, knowing that it could help ease the way when the words were the most difficult.

 

“No,” Bucky said, looking down at Nina again. He took a deep breath before he went on. “But I have turned one of the walls into a memorial of sorts. For all of the things I did that I couldn’t remember at first. And then once I did because…Because they should never be forgotten.”

 

“Ah,” Lulu said, leaning back in her chair. “For all of those horrible things you said they made you do.”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky whispered. “That.” He paused, taking another deep breath, and when that didn’t work, he started rocking Nina gently back and forth in his arms. “And Steve thinks it’s not healthy. That it doesn’t help, and he wants me to let him paint over it.”

 

“He’s probably right,” Lulu said, reaching once again for her cup. “It doesn’t help.”

 

“Some paint’s not just going to erase it, and…and…” Bucky looked at her, at this woman who had never known him, who hadn’t owed him anything, and yet still had given him everything. “I did some really, _really horrible_ things Mami. Really, really horrible.”

 

“And you want to make sure you remember,” she concluded.

 

“Yeah.”

 

She nodded her head and took another sip of tea. “Do you regret it? All of the things they made you do?”

 

“Oh god yes.”

 

“And if you could have stopped it, would you have?”

 

“Of course, Mami!”

 

“Ssh, ssh, don’t wake the baby,” she said. “Would you do any of it again, if given the choice?”

 

“No, no never.”

 

“And do you think, now that you remember all of it, that you’ll ever forget it? Any of it?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then there is your answer,” she said. “Your Stevie is right. It’s time to stop punishing yourself and let it go.”

 

“What?” Bucky couldn’t believe what he was hearing, that even she, in all her endless experience and knowledge, could not grasp how huge of a thing it was they were both telling him to do. “It’s not that easy!”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because it’s not. And a coat of paint can’t just make it all go away!” At his voice, Nina began to stir. Bucky began rocking her again, crooning softly, hushing her gently, apologizing yet again to someone else for what he had done. Lulu watched him the entire time, not saying a word, until Nina once more settled and Bucky was able to look up and meet her gaze.

 

“Do you think you’re the only one that has had to learn how to live with regret?” she asked him when she finally did speak. 

 

“No,” Bucky admitted. “I know I’m not.”

 

“I have four daughters Bucky, not three,” she went on. “And we don’t talk about it, but my youngest is an alcoholic and a drug addict. Do you think I don’t have nights when I can’t sleep because I’m thinking about every mistake I made, every time I could have said or done something another way that would have made a difference? That I don’t think about all of the things I should have paid attention to that would have told me she was struggling and needed help and I wasn’t there for her? I made so many mistakes Bucky, did so many things wrong, and this entire family, not just Diana, has paid the price for that. Do you think I don’t struggle to live with that every day? She’s my daughter Bucky, and I love her, and I would do anything, _anything_ in my power to help her, if she would let me. But she doesn’t want it, and I have to live with that, and just keep praying every night that today won’t be the day I get a phone call from the police telling me she’s been found dead, because I failed her as a mother.”

 

“It’s not your fault,” Bucky said. “You’ve tried to help her. We tried to help her when we went to get Joey. She didn’t want it.”

 

“Maybe, maybe not.” Lulu shrugged. “But I still have to live with the regret, and all of the mistakes I made.” There was so much pain in her eyes and her voice, but she was all strength and unbelievable determination, because in spite of all of that, or perhaps because of it, she continued. “I have to live with it, but I can’t let it consume me. Because I have three other daughters, grandchildren, and a son who still need me. So I have to learn to live with it, but also to let it go at the same time.” She reached out and ran her fingers through his hair, pushing the long strands back behind his ear. “So I will never forget Bucky, but I can’t let it be the only thing that defines me. We are all so much more than our mistakes and our failures. But we can use them to help make us better people in the future. Remember that mijo, and forgive yourself. Because we all deserve forgiveness too.”

 

And oh, she was amazing, this woman who had reached for him through his darkness and decided that she was his mother, for no other reason than she was just that strong and had that much love in her heart to give. He would have done _anything_ for her.

 

“Si Mami,” he said, turning his head slightly to kiss the palm of her hand she had pressed to his cheek. “Si.”

 

***

 

Later that night, Bucky stood in the middle of his room and stared at the Wall above his bed, at the list of all the cities where the Asset had made a kill. There were so many of them, too many of them, spanning the globe and over seventy-five years of pain and suffering. The victims, their friends, families and loved ones and even…Bucky himself. The brutal sacrifices HYDRA had made against their wills, and he the only one left standing. He even wondered at that, at how long he would have had left in his servitude before HYDRA would have decided to eliminate him as well. There had been additional attempts to recreate what Zola’s serum had done to him, but they had been too aggressive, too violent for even HYDRA to control, and they had been terminated. Still, Bucky knew it had probably been only a matter of time before they finally succeeded in creating someone or something even deadlier than him, and he would have been discarded, destroyed or perhaps even left forever in a frozen coffin of ice somewhere in the bowels of the earth. Where they would have made sure that there was no one left to remember him, and no one to write the location of his grave on a wall.

 

And who would be there to cradle Nina in their arms and soothe her to sleep, braid Joey’s hair, laugh with Dewy over all of the shenanigans in their neighborhood, or drink peppermint tea with his Mami while she told him all about what a brilliant and wonderful child her youngest, lost daughter had once been? And who would have been there for Stevie, to watch his back, make sure he was safe, and let his heart howl when no one could hear it. Who would all of them be without him, if he hadn’t survived and come to this point in his life now, another crossroads, but one of light and joy and love, lit by both moonlight and the sun’s glow, strong enough to keep back any and all shadow?

 

He didn’t know. He supposed he would never know. But like Lulu had said, he could only go forward and try to do the best that he could from now on.

 

“Hey.”

 

Bucky turned around to see Steve leaning against the frame of the doorway to his room, studying Bucky as Bucky studied his walls.

 

“Hey,” Bucky called back. This was the first time they were speaking since their fight on the roof. Bucky had made sure to avoid him, keeping to himself, out of the way. He hadn’t been ready to face Steve or the decision he was forcing Bucky to make just yet.

 

“Thanks for dinner,” Steve said. Bucky may have been avoiding him, but he had made sure to bring home some arroz con pollo for Steve once he had left Lulu’s house. Not quite a peace offering, but a gesture to show that he was willing to parley.

 

“You’re welcome,” Bucky told him and then went back to studying his Wall. Steve said nothing, just remained in the doorway, watching as Bucky ran his eyes back and forth over all the names of the cities he had desperately scribbled onto his Wall. Patient in that new way of his, so different from their youth. But so was he, and there was no going back, only forward.

 

“Could you really do it?” Bucky finally asked, a few minutes later. At this, Steve uncrossed his arms and came into the room, stopping once he had reached Bucky’s side.

 

“I can get started on it tomorrow,” he said. “I’ve already got the paint.”

 

“Of course you do,” Bucky laughed dryly, just once, with a shake of his head. Steve had probably had all the plans in place, long before he ever asked.

 

“I’ll take down the sketches, move all of the furniture to the center of the room, cover it with a drop cloth, plaster over the cracks and then paint over everything. It’ll take about a day while everything dries. Then I’ll move everything back, just like it was, and you can rehang all of the sketches back up if you still want them there. Or we can go pick up some frames so you can hang them all properly if you like. You can spend the night in the third bedroom on this floor, or down on the Lay-Z-Boy, cos I know you can sleep there. Or hell, if you think it’s going to upset you too much, you can even spend the night back in my old apartment. I haven’t sublet it yet, so it’s still empty. But if I get started on it early tomorrow morning, it should only take me a day, maybe a day and a half at most.” And yep, every single detail and contingency was already in place.

 

“It really bothers you that much?” Bucky asked.

 

“Yeah Bucky, it does,” Steve sighed. “But I wasn’t lying when I said it think it would be better for you too.”

 

“What color are you going to paint it?” Because Bucky knew Steve had something planned besides just repainting the wall the yellow it had been.

 

“Do you trust me?” Steve asked, and Bucky could hear it, the slight change in his voice, the hidden little chirp that meant Steve knew he was close to getting his way, and he was trying not to show how excited he was about it.

 

“Oh god, why do you always gotta go there?” Bucky groaned, shaking his head.

 

“Because it usually works,” Steve said. Bucky rolled his eyes. “You gonna let me do it Buck?” Bucky took another look at the Wall, at all of it, his madness and struggles, everything he had to fight for and through to get to where he was now. It had been a lot, it was still a lot, but maybe it was time to finally let some of it go.

 

“ _Please Bucky_ ,” Steve begged, actually begged, when he so seldom asked for anything for himself.

 

Bucky took one last look around, at this room which Steve had so carefully cleaned and refurbished so Bucky could have a safe place he could call his own. It had been filled with soft things and warm colors, so strange to him at that point. But welcoming, so welcoming, when nothing had been in so long. Steve had given him that, was still trying to give him that. Maybe now he was finally strong enough to accept and actually believe he had a right to it. He sighed.

 

“Yeah, okay,” he said with a small nod. “You can start on it tomorrow.”

 

“Thank you,” Steve sighed, reaching out with one hand to give the back of Bucky’s neck a quick but gentle shake. Bucky nodded again, and then turned and left the room, heading upstairs for the roof. He needed a cigarette.

 

This time, Steve left him alone.

 

***

 

Bright and early the next morning, Steve joined Bucky in his room as Bucky began to slow process of removing all of the sketches from the wall. Steve had offered to help, but Bucky wanted to do at least this part by himself, so Steve sat on his bed and watched instead.

 

Bucky was careful as he slowly pulled each sheet of paper from the wall, needing to preserve the order. He was pretty sure he had gotten most of the timeline right, but he wanted to be certain as he gathered each sketch into a careful stack. Steve was quiet mostly, not interfering, except for every now and then he would gently interject with a “ _Switch those two, that happened first_ ,” or “ _That was much, much later, closer to the end of the war._ ” Bucky would respond with a “ _thanks_ ” and then adjust the order, making sure all the edges in his stack were evenly lined.

 

“Are you going to want to pick up some frames before you hang them back up again?” Steve asked after Bucky had made his way to the other wall, gathering the sketches that were from his now, more gifts from Steve when he had wanted to remind Bucky that this was his home.

 

“Dunno,” Bucky answered honestly with a shrug. He was staring at the postcard from Venice Beach, remembering how he had finally made it to the shore, not knowing why, only that it had been important to him for some reason back then. It had been colder than expected and too crowded, yet it had still settled something inside of him. Next to it was a paper menu from Casita Pepe, where Lulu had first written her cell phone number for Bucky to have, using one of Joey’s pens with the glittery ink. He had kept it then, thinking it important, but not realizing just how important it would end up becoming.

 

Ten minutes later, he was done, and all of the sketches had been gathered into the thick manila folder Bucky clutched in his hands.

 

“Right,” he said with a final look around. “I’m getting outta here. I’ll be back later.”

 

“Okay,” Steve said, with a nod and smile. “Keep your phone on. I’ll text you when I’m done.”

 

“Yeah, whatever.” Bucky was already on the stairs. He may have agreed to it, but he didn’t think he’d be able to remain in the house while Steve did whatever it was he was going to do to his room. But at least this way he had the perfect excuse to spend the day with his family.

 

***

 

Two mornings later, Bucky was once more standing in his bedroom, looking around, staring at his walls.

 

It had taken Steve longer than he originally thought to finish everything he wanted to do, and he had forbidden, absolutely forbidden Bucky from going into his room until it was complete.

 

“Are you fucking kidding me Steve?” Bucky had groused. 

 

“No, I’m not,” Steve said, jutting his stubborn chin of stubborn stupidity at Bucky.

 

“I need to get something to wear,” Bucky argued. In response, Steve had thrown a pile of clothes at Bucky’s chest, including a pair of Bucky’s boxer shorts. Bucky had not needed the image of Steve touching his underwear, but well, there it was. And now he couldn’t even lock himself in his room to jack off. He had considered going into Steve’s bedroom for a wank instead, but then realized it probably wouldn’t have made the situation any better, and spent the rest of the night grumbling to himself. Steve, the bastard that he was, just ignored him, and Bucky ended up sleeping on the Lay-Z-Boy, which okay, was really comfortable, and he loved it. But still, it was the principle of the thing.

 

Now, a few hours into the afternoon, he was standing in his room, staring at what Steve had done, absolutely speechless.

 

Because Steve hadn’t just redone his walls; he had gone further than that, and given Bucky an even greater gift.

 

The walls where the sketches had hung had been repainted the same, soft, buttery yellow they had always been. But the color was even warmer, more soothing than when Bucky had stepped into this room for the first time. But on the Wall, where Bucky had scratched all of his pain, Steve had painted a sea scape; a coastline that rose up into a series of blue and grey waves, the colors rippling and flowing from one into next just like the waves of the ocean. They climbed higher and higher, indistinct from one another, cresting up over the wall and spreading out onto the ceiling, where when Bucky looked up, they transformed themselves into another sea. But this one of stars, circular twists of blue, yellow and gold that kissed the indigo sky that held them all in place. Light and dark, motion and stillness, energy and calm. Steve had not erased any of Bucky’s rage, regret or pain. Instead he had painted its transformation, still there, but now filled with all its potential as well. The colors rippled and swirled, yet still somehow managed to capture an inner calm, the pause between heartbeats, that was a promise and a hope for something even better.

 

And then, and then, as if that weren’t enough, there were the tiny details Steve had added. Because there on the shoreline of the beach, were two men, sitting side by side, seen only from the back, one dark haired, one golden. Bucky and Steve, the way they used to sit when they had gone to the beach as kids. And Bucky and Steve, the way they had sat together not too long ago, when Bucky had needed to flee, still just as close, one always there for the other whenever there was a need. They were staring up into the sky, at the corner of the ceiling, where Steve had added the last of his touches to the thousands already there; a sharp white star, a perfect copy from the one on Steve’s shield, next to a bright red one, that matched the one on Bucky’s upper left arm. Captain America and the Winter Soldier, no longer enemies, but allies, as they had always been. As they were always meant to be. One who everyone knew and remembered, and one who would never be forgotten or left behind again.

 

“Well?” Steve asked after ten minutes passed and Bucky still hadn’t said anything. It was obvious he was nervous, worried about Bucky’s reaction. “What do you think?”

 

There were no words; anything Bucky may have been able to say, Steve had already stolen to add to this painted kaleidoscope of their lives. Until they were there, suddenly sharp and bright in his head.

 

“Goddammit Stevie,” he said.

 

“What?”

 

“Now I have to go to Home Depot and pick up some fucking frames, you motherfucker.” With that, Bucky turned around and stomped out of the room, Steve’s laughter following him into the hall, while Bucky wiped at the tears in his eyes with his hands.

 

***

 

“So,” Lulu said to him the next day when he stopped by for lunch. “Was he right?”

 

“Shut up,” Bucky grumbled, walking past her toward Nina’s crib. Lulu smiled.

 

“And have you thanked him properly for it yet?”

 

“Ugh,” Bucky grumbled again, reaching down for his goddaughter. “His head’s big enough already as it is.”

 

“Do you think he would prefer some pastelon or sancocho?” she asked with a laugh.

 

“Pastelon,” Bucky admitted as he kissed Nina’s cheek. “And some tostones too. He really loves those.”

 

“But of course…And maybe cut your hair. I’m sure he would be very thankful if you got a haircut,” she called from her kitchen.

 

“Are you sure you mean Stevie and not you?”

 

“We would both be very thankful. Seriously Bucky, go get a haircut.”

 

***

 

Two days later, Bucky found his own way to thank Stevie. And he knew the exact moment Steve discovered his gift, the two boxes he had carefully hidden behind Steve’s shield.

 

“You’re welcome!” Steve called out happily from his room.

 

It was okay, Bucky could share some of his cookies. He still had eight boxes of the Thin Mints left after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve wanted me to let you know he was so surprised at the overwhelming requests for an additional chapter this week. Bucky would agree with him, but he's too busy trying to hide the rest of this Thin Mints so Captain Greedy-Grabby-Fingers can't try to sneak anymore. 
> 
> On a more serious note, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. This was another one that was probably a very long time coming. 
> 
> Next week, I will go back to my regular updating schedule, one new chapter on Tuesdays and one on Fridays. And I think some of you are really going to enjoy the direction the next chapter finally takes. =) 
> 
> And as always, your comments are like Bucky's Thin Mints. They give me joy. <3


	11. Dawnings

“Does he know that you love him?” Lulu asked suddenly, after she flipped through the photos Bucky had taken of his repainted bedroom, and was handing him back his phone. It was a few days later, and Bucky had been in such a good mood he forewent his usual training once Steve left for the day, deciding instead to spend some time with Lulu. It was just the two of them; Joey was at school, Dewy had left to visit her clients, and Nina was napping quietly in her crib in the nursery. He loved being able to sit with her in her kitchen, sharing a cup of coffee or tea, the two of them just talking about this or that. He knew Dolores and Damaras appreciated it as well, as it kept their mother out of their hair and their kitchen, so they could work without any interference.

 

“Who?” Bucky asked, taking his phone back.

 

“Who?” she snorted at him. “Don’t play stupid Bucky, it doesn’t suit you. Your Stevie, of course.”

 

“He’s my oldest friend,” Bucky snorted back. “Of course he knows I love him.”

 

“I’m sure he does,” Lulu agreed. “But that’s not what I meant. Does he know that you’re _in love_ with him?” Bucky froze, staring at her in surprise. “Oh, don’t look at me like that Bucky. It’s not a secret. Anyone who knows you for more than a day would be able to tell.”

 

“I…I’m not –“

 

“Don’t even try to deny it mijo,” she said. But she must have finally noticed the expression on his face, the shock and fear he felt blanching his own cheeks. “Did you think I would care? That it would make any difference to how I feel about you?”

 

“No.”

 

“I was just wondering when you were going to say something. We talk about everything else, why wouldn’t we talk about this?”

 

“It’s not like that.” Bucky looked down at his phone, very deliberately putting it to sleep before he placed it on the table.

 

“Oh please Bucky, don’t lie to me. Of course it is. You’ve been in love with him for a very long time. Probably your entire life, from what you’ve told me.” Bucky couldn’t deny it, wouldn’t deny it, at least not to her. He always tried to be as honest as possible with her, about as much as he could. She was his mother after all, and after everything she had done for him, she deserved his honesty. But honest or not, it still did not change the situation.

 

“It’s not like that,” he said again, this time with a shrug.

 

“And why not?” she pressed, as stubborn and determined as Steve in her own way.

 

“Because he’s not gay, Mami,” Bucky whispered. “So it doesn’t make a difference if I’m in love with him or not. He doesn’t feel the same way.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“He’s only ever dated women,” Bucky had to admit. “He was even planning to marry one once, before, well, things changed and it wasn’t possible anymore. And I’ve never seen him look at another man, or anyone else, the way he looked at Peggy.”

 

“Have you asked him about it?”

 

“Why would I do that?”

 

“How else would you know for sure?” she countered. “Does he even know you’re bi?”

 

“I’m pretty sure he knows.” Although once the words were out, Bucky found himself wondering. They had shared one night together, but after that, once they were reunited, there had been Peggy, and no one for Bucky except the night he had pretended to spend with Claudine. Maybe Steve wasn’t certain, but he sure as hell hadn’t been comfortable around Bucky for a few weeks after he told Bucky about the night before he had shipped off. Things had gotten back to normal, were even better than they had ever been, and Bucky did not want to do anything that could ever possibly risk that.

 

“I don’t know Bucky,” Lulu said to him. “You can be pretty secretive about things, especially things that are very important to you.”

 

“I can’t Mami, I just can’t.” Bucky shook his head.

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because he’s already done so much for me. And it’s not fair, after all of that, to ask him for anything more. He means the world to me, and I can’t risk losing him over something like this.” Bucky shared with her his greatest fear, just like he had shared so much of his newly discovered self with her over the past twenty months.

 

“If you tell him and it ends up ruining your friendship, then he’s not that good of a friend. But I don’t think that’s who is, from what you’ve told me. And if you do tell him, and he says no, yes, it will probably be awkward for a little while, but at least you’ll know for sure, and can move on. But what if he says yes Bucky? Wouldn’t that be worth it?”

 

“Yes.” Even to his own ears, Bucky’s voice sounded shivery and desperate. He could do this here, share that truth with her. But it still, _still_ did not change the facts. “But he’s not gay, or bi, Mami. I would have known if he was.”

 

“Has he dated anyone since he moved into the house?” she asked.

 

“No, but that’s because there hasn’t been any time. He works during the day, and then we work on the house together, and he’s been helping me deal with all of my bullshit, so when was he going to get a chance to start seeing anybody?”

 

“If there was someone he was interested in, he would have found the time. Believe me,” she argued.

 

“Still doesn’t mean he wants to be with a man.”

 

“I don’t know Bucky,” she said, reaching for his phone, but unlike Joey, she was unable to turn it on. She just stared down at the darkened screen instead. “Because you showed me the pictures of how he painted your walls. And you’re always telling me about all of the things he’s done for you – the sketches he’s always drawing and giving to you, the way he basically gave up his favorite chair so you could have it, and how he always makes sure there are plenty of plums for you to eat. That doesn’t sound like just friendship to me Bucky. Those sound more like the things someone does when they’re trying to court someone.”

 

***

 

“So, have you told Stevie that you want to cover his dick with honey so you can lick it all off, hump his leg like a dog, and then come all over his face?” Dewy blurted out a few days later as they sat in the little alcove, her feet in his lap while she breastfed Nina. Bucky ended up spraying the Coco Rico he had just sipped all over the table.

 

“What the fuck Dewy?” he gasped when he finally stopped coughing.

 

“More like who the fuck, and that should be you and Stevie, that’s who,” she answered, not disturbed in the slightest by his reaction.

 

“Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you women? There is nothing going on between me and Stevie.”

 

“Oh please, that’s just because you haven’t ripped his clothes off yet. What the hell are you waiting for?”

 

“I do not want to rip his clothes off. Or come all over his face.”

 

“I noticed you didn’t say anything about humping his leg or licking honey off his dick.”

 

“Dewy!”

 

“Bucky,” she said, and suddenly all of the teasing and laughter was gone from her voice, as she stared at him with nothing but gentleness and compassion in her eyes. “You love him. I think you’ve always loved him. Your entire face changes whenever you talk about him. We can all see it, you know. It sounds like the only one who can’t is Stevie, and that’s probably because he’s too busy looking at your ass.”

 

“Oh Jesus,” Bucky groaned, thunking his head on the table.

 

“And seriously,” Dewy went on, back to her usual, mischievous self. “It’s been too long. One of us needs to get laid, and I’m lactating, so it can’t be me. Can you just imagine? Some guy squeezes my tits and gets shot in the eye by my milk. That’s just disgusting. So it has to be you. Go get laid, for the both of us.”

 

“If some guy is squeezing your tits so hard your milk comes shooting out, he’s definitely doing it wrong,” Bucky heard himself say, and then scrunched up his face against the table top, not able to believe this was the conversation he was having. “And I really didn’t need that mental image.”

 

“Yes well, welcome to the first couple of months of motherhood, where both your tits and your vagina leak constantly, and you have to convince your very hot brother to go out and get laid.”

 

“And now I officially don’t want to have sex ever again. Thanks Dewy.”

 

“You’re very welcome. Now go home and fuck your man so you can tell me all about it, and I can live vicariously through you.”

 

“He’s not my man.”

 

“Seriously Bucky, do you need me to lend you a pair of my shoes? Would that help?”

 

“ _Fuck. My. Life._ ”

 

“ _Fuck. Your. Stevie._ ”

 

***

 

“So, have you confessed your love to Stevie yet?”

 

“Oh Jesus Joey, not you too?”

 

“What?”

 

“There is nothing going on between me and Stevie.”

 

“Oh please, the two of you are _exactly_ like Colton and Blake.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Colton and Blake.”

 

“Who the hell are Colton and Blake?”

 

“They’re the two main characters in Burning Balls of Love. Colton is a basketball player, and he’s in love with his roommate Blake, who plays football. Except Blake is straight, or at least Colton thinks he is, until he walks by Blake’s bedroom late one night and hears him call out his name while he’s jacking off. The next night he sneaks into his bedroom and the two of them end up having a lot of butt sex for the rest of the book.”

 

“ _What the hell are you reading?_ ”

 

“I told you, Burning Balls of Love. It’s part of a series about college athletes and their roommates. It’s really good. This one is book three, the next one The Bigger the Balls the Harder He Falls comes out next week. It’s about Jax, and everyone has been waiting for his story since book one.”

 

“Does Lulu know you’re reading this?”

 

“Oh please, she’s already on book two. Here, give me your phone. I'll transfer over the first one, it's really good.”

 

“I liked the one about the space pirates.”

 

“Oh that one was awesome! I hear the next one’s coming out next month, and according to the rumors on her FaceBook page, it’s going to involve tentacles somehow.”

 

“Seriously?”

 

“Seriously…so anyway, are you going to confess to Stevie that you love him or not?”

 

“What the hell is it with all of you women sticking your noses into my love life?”

 

And here, for the first time, Joey stopped in their walk together down the street and looked up at him. She reached out, and gently took his metal hand into her own, something the two of them had started to do whenever they were walking together and one of them needed just an extra bit of comfort when the things they were sharing with each other were difficult for one of them to say.

 

“It’s because we want you to be happy, Bucky,” she said, resuming her steps and pulling him along behind her. “We love you, and we want you to be happy. That’s all.”

 

“I’m already pretty happy Joey,” he said, giving her fingers a small squeeze.

 

“Well, you are now,” she said in her haughty little way. “But that’s just because you keep eating all of our food.”

 

***

 

“Tell him Bucky,” Lulu said gently, two nights later as they stood face to face on her front steps, saying goodbye to each other for the evening. “I know you’re scared about what he’ll say, but no matter what happens, you’re not going to lose him. If he says yes, then you’ll finally have something you’ve always wanted. And if he says no, then you can start to let go, just a little bit, and maybe make room in your heart for someone else. It won’t be the same, but it can still be beautiful. And you deserve that, as much as anybody else. Maybe even more, after everything you’ve been through.” She pulled him toward her, so he could lean down to accept her kiss to his cheek, “But I think you’re going to be surprised. And even if you’re not, well there’s still Gloria. She hasn’t stopped asking all of us about you ever since the christening. And if you’re not interested in Gloria, I can introduce you to my nephew Freddito. He wasn’t at the christening, but he’s very cute. He works as a fireman, so he has good benefits too. That’s always a plus.”

 

“Oh my god, you women are relentless,” Bucky grumbled as he returned Lulu’s kiss with one of his own.

 

“Just tell him!” Called two voices from the top of the hallway steps.

 

Lulu was laughing at him as he walked away. Bucky shook his head. These people, his family, they were going to drive him crazy.

 

Even so, he still adored them with all of his heart.

 

***

 

Yet somehow, after all their meddling and encouragement, Bucky found himself paying even closer attention to Steve. Because something Lulu had said sparked an idea in his head, and there, in the deepest, darkest corners of his mind, came first a flicker, and then a tiny burst that slowly grew into a steady flame.

 

Because what if Steve had been, in his own way, courting him all this time.

 

He didn’t think that was it, or at least not all of it. Steve would never, and had never, done anything he ever did expecting any payback in return. He simply was that kind and generous. Bucky knew Steve would have been horrified if he thought Bucky felt as if some form of reciprocation was required in exchange for what he had done. There was a very simple reason why Steve had done all he had; Bucky was his friend and the only thing he expected (and not even at first) was friendship in return.

 

But before the serum, Steve had been ignored and overlooked his entire life, and despite all the changes to his body and the way the world now viewed him, he knew those experiences had left their imprint on him. After the serum, things changed, but Bucky doubted it had actually been an improvement, when once again everyone was only noticing Steve for his body, if for different reasons now. Very few people really knew who Steve actually was; how sharp, funny, and personable he could be when he was finally comfortable enough around someone to let his real self shine through. That he could curse a blue streak, laugh at the stupidest of jokes, and was a thief who kept trying to steal all of Bucky’s remaining Thin Mints. Bucky also remembered how he had been with Peggy; she had enjoyed his body, who wouldn’t. But according to Steve, she had paid attention to him before all of the muscles and height and super strength. Steve had been surprisingly aggressive in her company. Never forceful or possessive, but he never shied away from her in public, or denied what they were to each other. They had both been discrete, due to the times and the demands of the war. But if you knew how to look, how to watch (and no one knew how to watch Steve better than Bucky, not even Peggy herself), you could see how he was always reaching for her, brushing the back of his hand quickly over hers, leaning in whenever she spoke, making sure she knew she had absolutely all of his attention whenever they were together. And he knew, had heard, had not been able to help but hear, how they were together in private. From what Bucky had been able to deduce, Steve was not the least bit shy or inhibited when it came to his lovers in bed.

 

Very similar, in a lot of ways, to how he behaved when they were together, if you replaced the brushing of fingers and the sex, with shoulder shoves, back slaps, and that hand Steve was always placing to the back of his neck. Bucky suddenly found himself wishing he had accepted one of the many invites Steve always extended to him whenever he visited Wilson, to see if he behaved the same way around him as he did with Bucky.

 

It became a knot that he worried at, pulling at the threads, trying to determine if there was an actual puzzle there for him to solve, clues Steve had been leaving that he hadn’t noticed before.

 

So he decided to experiment, and see how Steve reacted as a result.

 

He started with his clothes, changing their style and color to see if there was any difference to the way Steve responded.

 

And noticed very quickly that Steve most certainly did have opinions about what he wore, silent and unvoiced, but there. Tighter jeans, especially the skin-tight black ones Dewy insisted he buy after she had seen him try them on in the store, gave Steve pause. It was brief, barely noticeable, but there if you knew what to look for, his eyes jerking down then up. The day Bucky had combined them with his combat boots, and added ever the slightest bit of a strut to his walk, Steve had very calmly risen from the kitchen table, and informed Bucky that he needed to head into the city and check in with his teammates for a bit. On a Sunday, the day Steve declared was the day they weren’t going to do any work.

 

_Huh._

 

He started playing with colors next. Darker colors seemed to be what worked best. If he wore rich maroons, blacks, sapphires or deep purples, he could feel Steve’s eyes tracking him whenever his back was turned. The tighter the cut of his shirt, the heavier the gaze. The day he had worn a dark blue t-shirt that clung to his shoulders, Steve had been surprisingly quiet on their drive over to Home Depot. Deciding to test his theory, Bucky had leaned in and smiled a crooked little smile at the sales clerk who had come up to see if she could offer any assistance. She giggled and blushed. Steve had been at the other end of the aisle, looking at power saws, but all of a sudden he was at Bucky’s side, asking him for his opinion about which saw he thought they should purchase, making sure to angle himself so that Bucky needed to turn away from the poor sales clerk and lean in close to hear Steve over the ambient noise of the store. Once the young woman walked away, Steve had casually leaned back and started speaking in his normal voice. But he made sure to stay within three feet of Bucky for the rest of their trip.

 

_Huh._

 

The next morning, Bucky came down the stairs wearing an even tighter t-shirt, another purchase Dewy had insisted on, slightly shorter than the one he had worn the day before. Curious and inspired, Bucky decided to wrap one of the thick leather belts Dewy told him he needed to purchase, over his hips to see if that had any effect. Steve hadn’t even finished his coffee or touched his breakfast before he was rising from the table, and once again claiming that he needed to head out to see his teammates. At 7:30 in the morning.

 

_Huh._

 

Bucky changed it up after that, and started experimenting with touch. Nothing too aggressive or obvious, but standing just a bit closer than before. Leaning over Steve’s shoulder, resting a hand on his back, making sure he was near enough that his hair, just the very ends of it, brushed against Steve’s cheek as he peered down at whatever item in the gardening catalogue Steve wanted him to make a decision on. Steve had gone very still when he did that.

 

Standing even closer than usual when they two of them were washing and drying their dishes from dinner, leaning just a bit so that his shoulder rested against Steve’s. To his surprise, Steve hadn’t pulled away, instead shifting his weight so that their bodies matched, easy and loose in a way that told Bucky Steve wasn’t even aware he was doing it, but was still, however subconsciously, returning the gesture. Bucky even went so far as to start ruffling Steve’s hair whenever they were close enough, and Steve tossed out some joke that made the both of them laugh. Steve would always jerk, a tiny, infinitesimal gesture that anyone without Bucky’s training or serum enhanced senses would not have been able to detect. But Steve never, not once, ever pulled away. One time his eyelashes even fluttered, another teeny, tiny little tell, before all of a sudden he was rising, because oh, yeah, by the way, he had promised Maria Hill he would help her go over some files and see if there were any patterns that Steve could recognize in the latest data packet she had unearthed from somewhere non-specific. On a Sunday. Again.

 

_Huh._

 

Then there was his hair. Because if there was anything that could catch and hold Steve’s attention, it was whenever Bucky did something to his hair in front of Steve. Pulling on a vague and uncertain memory of the feel of Steve’s hands brushing through it on the first night he had ever fallen asleep in the Lay-Z-Boy in the living room, Bucky started playing with his hair whenever he was in the same room as Steve.

 

And if there had ever been any doubt, any question at all as to whether or not Steve was watching him as more than just a concerned friend, Bucky suddenly had his answer. Because it quickly became obvious that Steve was obsessed with his hair.

 

Bucky always brushed it in the mornings before he came downstairs, but left it loose until he and Stevie were in the same room, usually the kitchen. He would wait until they were both sitting at the table, about to start on breakfast, before he would slide the elastic tie he had worn around his wrist off, and run his fingers through his hair, to pull it back into either a high ponytail, or twisted it into a bun at the top of his head, pretending not to notice the way Steve’s eyes tracked the movement of his hands. If he left a few of his longer bangs to hang around his face, and then played with them just a bit, brushing a stray lock behind his ear, Steve would sometimes even pause mid-sentence. When Bucky glanced at him, he would quickly lower his gaze as he shoved a forkful of whatever they were eating into his mouth, as if he had only stopped so that he could take another bite, when Bucky knew damned well that there was nothing that would shut Steve up when he was on a roll. At the end of one of their runs, Bucky took to pulling his hair out of the bun he had tied it up into, shaking it out, and then regathering it at the top of his head, making sure to run his fingers through any stray strands that had clung to the sweat on his neck, before turning to smile at Steve. Steve started splashing himself with the bottle of water he always carried with him, claiming the cold felt good on his face when combined with the heat of the summer’s air, when really, they had run much farther and in worse temperatures, during both the war and throughout the previous months of their cohabitation. The day Steve accidentally used Gatorade instead of water was one of the best laughs Bucky had in decades.

 

And if Bucky left his hair alone, or just pulled some of it back into a partial ponytail, leaving most of it down, long enough now that it brushed his shoulders, Steve would just stare and stare and stare, too captivated to even bother to pretend to deny how fascinated he was by it. Until he would suddenly snap out of it, and then once again remember that he needed to head into the city, because Wilson was there, and he hadn’t seen him in a while, and _yeah Bucky, don’t wait up, they were going to get dinner together, and he would probably be coming home late_.

 

 _Huh. Huh._ And _huh._

 

That night, as Bucky lay on his bed in his room, he flipped through the pages of the binder he had put together of all the sketches Steve had drawn for him, after he decided on his twenty favorites that he had framed and rehung on his walls. And saw what he hadn’t been able to see before. Because it was there, in every single one of Steve’s drawings, in each line he had oh so carefully tinted and shaded. There were pages and pages of images, and in so many of them Steve had paid extra close attention to his hair. The way it looked in the sunlight, or was caught by a breeze, or hung just past his cheeks when it had been shorter. It was obvious Steve was captivated by it, had been captivated by it for some time, if the sketches of even their earliest days together were any indication.

 

But there was also the way Steve had captured the light in Bucky’s eyes, or how the corner of his mouth quirked whenever Bucky grinned, or the tilt of his neck in the one sketch where Steve had drawn Bucky reading. The careful attention to the bones of Bucky’s wrist. The potential of movement in Bucky’s body when Steve had spent all of those weeks sitting at the top of the basement stairs while he watched Bucky train. The whorls in his ear, that Bucky knew without having to compare them in the mirror, were a perfect match. The plates that made up his left arm, that Steve never, not once, obscured or hid behind shadows. The bend of his knee from a morning the two of them had spent up on the roof, watching the sun rise, and Bucky decided to prop his feet up on the table. The shape of his eyes from a portrait Steve had sketched, where he had somehow managed to capture each and every fleck and gradient of color, even though he had only used charcoal for the sketch. The pieces of paper Bucky still found, at least once a week, throughout the house, whenever Steve felt some deep and powerful need to remind him that this was his home, that Steve was his home, and he wanted to make sure Bucky always remembered that.

 

The two stars Steve had painted on his ceiling, red and white, neither overshadowing the other, side by side in a sky that was beautiful, but nowhere near as vast or as endless at the two of them, even now, in a new century, over a hundred years after they had been born. A kiss that wasn’t a kiss, there in the corner of Bucky’s room, waiting to be noticed, for Bucky to finally see all that Steve had been unable to put into words. So he had said it in the language that had always been easiest for him; the color and shadow, hue and tint of his art.

 

It seemed that Lulu had been right. Stevie was courting him. Had been courting him for quite some time now. Bucky had just needed to open his eyes, look, and finally, _finally_ see.

 

_Huh._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lulu says you're welcome.
> 
> (Also, on a serious note, and I HATE to say this, but there might be a delay in posting the next chapter. Somehow I got spyware on my computer and those assholes managed to get access to a few of my accounts - Nothing major, but still. So I have to bring the laptop in to get all of that crap purged. It shouldn't take more than a day or two, but I just wanted to let you know that slight possibility is there. =( )


	12. Inevitability

Something was going on with Bucky. Steve had no idea what it was, but something in him had shifted, because all of a sudden, whenever he turned around, or glanced over his shoulder, Bucky was there. Watching him, studying him, leaning in close, with a look in his eyes Steve had never seen before. He was circling, coming in closer then stepping away, only to come back in again, with a careless little laugh, and a knowing, sly grin, wicked and secretive. He was prowling, tightening a boundary, laying a claim to his territory, and Steve couldn’t help but feel as if he was being stalked, corralled, ever so carefully being brushed against so that he was forced to step back, step aside and into the web Bucky was weaving, until he was exactly where Bucky wanted him to be. But it wasn’t a threat, or an entrapment. More of a steady insistence, an enticement of something both sweet and savory if Steve accepted the offerings Bucky held out to him, and followed instead of fought back.

 

It should have felt constricting or overwhelming, but it didn’t. Because Bucky always seemed to know if he had come too close or taken it just a bit too far, and backed off, stepping away if Steve gave even the slightest hint of discomfort. But never for too long, and never to the point where Steve could ever forget that Bucky was still there, still watching, still waiting as he decided on his next step.

 

As if Steve ever would.

 

At first, when Steve noticed the change in the way Bucky was moving and dressing, how the language of his body had rolled over into something heavier, dark and deep, he thought there was someone else in Bucky’s life. He had seen Bucky texting on his phone a couple of times, and even heard an occasional phone call where Bucky spoke to whoever it was on the other end of the line in Spanish. There was a new scent, an overlay of something sweet and soft, reminding Steve of baby powder of all things, that now hung in the air around him. It wasn’t perfume though. And there were never any marks on his neck, or lipstick stains on his clothes that Steve could see. He was always there when Steve got back from his trips to the Tower, his smile warm and bright as soon as Steve walked through the door. Steve could also remember how Bucky behaved before the war whenever there was girl he had been dating, and this wasn’t that. He just didn’t know exactly what _this_ was, and the not knowing was driving him insane.

 

Because his own body was on fire, a constant burn he could not put out, no matter what he did. Half of the time his dick ached, throbbing and hard in his jeans, to the point where it was practically all he could think about. He spent the other half of his time either up in his room, his face buried in his pillow as he jacked himself off with a furious desperation, or visiting his teammates, where even listening to Bruce go on and on about whatever latest experiments he was running couldn’t make it go away. Clint and Sam were starting to give him funny looks, and even Pepper had gone so far as to ask him if he was okay, was everything all right, and was there anything they could do.

 

If only they knew.

 

Because no matter what, no matter where he was or how hard ( _ha, hard!_ ) he tried to distract himself, Bucky was always there. In those slim jeans that clung to his long, sleek, muscular thighs, and the tight t-shirts that showcased his broad shoulders and every single ridge and line of all of the muscles of his back and chest. And those damned belts he started wearing that highlighted the thin silhouette of his hips. Or his hair, his goddamned, motherfucking hair, that he was always playing with now. His beautiful, beautiful dark, silky hair, longer than it had ever been before, that Steve wanted to wrap his fingers around, so that he could pull Bucky in close, breathe him in, and never, ever let him go.

 

Steve had moments where he wondered if the Asset was back in control, and this a new strategy he had developed, some new form of attack he was testing. Because he could swear to god that Bucky was trying to kill him.

 

_But oh, wouldn’t that be a hell of a way to go._

 

Bucky was waiting for him when he got home that night. Of course he was; because no matter what was going on with him, at his core, he was still Steve’s best friend, the one who had always loved him the most, the easiest, no matter what size Steve’s body had been. Steve didn’t know if that made it better or worse, because he didn’t just want Bucky with every drop of blood in his veins, but loved him too, with every bit of starlight and spark that made up his soul. Heat and love, danger and safety, and always, always, _always_ , the other part of Steve that made him whole.

 

“Hey Stevie,” Bucky greeted him as soon as Steve closed and locked the door behind him, reaching out to clasp Steve in a one-armed hug that brought Steve’s face flush against his hair, its strands tickling his cheeks. And of course he was wearing it down; it was almost as if he knew how fascinated Steve was by it. “Good day with Wilson?”

 

“Yeah, it was all right,” Steve said stepping (stumbling) back.

 

“Did you eat?” Bucky looked at him with a slight cock to his head, and that sly little smile of his that he seemed to be turning in Steve’s direction a hell of a lot lately. “'Cos I got food if you’re hungry.”

 

“What did you get?” Steve asked as Bucky gave his shoulder one last slap and then turned and practically slinked toward the kitchen.

 

“Your favorite, pastelon,” Bucky called from over his shoulder. And oh god, his hair, that goddamned, motherfucking hair of his.

 

“Then I could eat.” Steve found himself trailing Bucky into the kitchen, once again helplessly following the path Bucky laid out for him.

 

“Sit. I’ll get it for you.” Bucky pointed to the kitchen table. And then the sonovabitch slid one of those goddammed endless supply of hair ties he seemed to suddenly have from his wrist and pulled his hair up into a ponytail.

 

“Okay.” Steve would never know how he managed get the word past his tongue, suddenly heavy and swollen in his mouth.

 

“Everything all right?” Bucky asked as he reached into one of the cabinets for a plate.

 

“Fine.” Bucky glanced over his shoulder at Steve, smiling as if that was the expected answer, and then turned around to reach into the oven for the container he had been keeping warm while he waited for Steve to return. After he brushed a stray lock of hair back behind his ear of course.

 

“Wilson doing okay?” he went on as he placed a generous portion of pastelon onto the plate.

 

“Fine,” was all Steve could say again.

 

“That’s good to know,” Bucky agreed, turning around with the full dish in his hand.

 

“He said to say hello.” There, that was a sentence, a full one and everything.

 

Bucky hummed and then he was coming over to the table.

 

“So Stevie, can I ask you something?” he said, as he placed one hand on Steve’s shoulder. Then he was leaning forward, sliding the plate in front of Steve, his face close enough that the few stray locks of his hair he hadn’t managed to tie back brushed ever so slightly against Steve’s cheek.

 

“Yeah Buck, you can ask me anything, you know that.” Food, just think of the food, delicious, delicious, wonderful food…That Bucky had gone out to get for him, knowing it was his favorite. Bucky hummed again, and then he was looking at Steve from the corner of his eye, with a grin that was sharp and cunning.

 

“I was just wondering Stevie,” he said softly, leaning in even closer so that he could whisper into Steve’s ear. “Do you have a thing for my hair?”

 

Steve didn’t know what to call the sound that escaped his throat. It may have been a gasp, a wheeze, a squawk, or some combination of all three. All he knew was that he had made it, and even if Bucky hadn’t been standing so close, he would have been able to hear it.

 

“Ah,” Bucky said quietly, in that same, soft whisper, so close now that his breath brushed the shell of Steve’s ear, releasing a cascade of shivers, shiver, shivers, all along the length of Steve’s spine. “Thought so.”

 

And then, for the first time ever in his life, instead of rising to face the challenge that had been thrown down before him, Steve rose from the table, backed away from Bucky, and bolted up the stairs and into his room.

 

***

 

_Oh god, he knew. Oh god, oh god, he knew. He knew._

 

Bucky had finally figured out what Steve had been so desperately trying to hide from him. Steve had no idea what Bucky was going to do next, as he slammed his door shut and threw himself onto his bed, covering his face with his hands. Steve had tried, he had desperately, desperately tried to keep all of his feelings, his endless, endless yearning, hidden. Bucky had been through so much already, and Steve never wanted him to feel as if he was expecting anything from him in return. His friendship, the fact that he was here, now, alive when Steve had thought him dead was already more than enough. More than anything Steve would have ever dared to ask for.

 

But Bucky was smart, smarter than anyone had ever really given him any credit for. It was easy to forget that behind all his easy-going charm and crooked little smiles there was a very keen and cunning mind that was always watching, always observing, catching every single detail, processing it quietly before he decided on his next move. Unbelievably intelligent, with a soldier’s discipline, a sniper’s precision and a predator’s instincts, and he knew how to use it to get exactly what he wanted. Steve didn’t know why he was surprised.

 

Except now Bucky had called Steve’s bluff, laying all of Steve’s cards on the table and spread them out so he could peruse through them at his leisure.

 

Steve had no idea what he was going to do, because he doubted once that Pandora’s box had been opened, there was any going back. How would it change things, them, this dynamic they had created between them in this collection of concrete, wood and brick they had turned into a home? Steve’s oasis in the sometimes deserts of his world, where even with the ever-present burning hunger for Bucky’s presence, he always felt safe and secure.

 

It had been cowardly to run; he knew that. If their situations had been reversed, Bucky would have kissed his cheek in a friendly way, and then said easily enough, “I love you too Stevie. Not that way, but never doubt that I will always love you,” before he sauntered off as if nothing had changed.

 

But this was not friendly, not easy. This had been building and building and building, boiling in Steve’s veins ever since he was seventeen years old and had gotten his first erection. Later than most boys, his body desperately trying to conserve all its resources simply to survive. But one day after school, Bucky had met up with Steve and casually tossed his arm over Steve’s shoulder just like he always did. Steve had smelled the sweat and musk of him, and suddenly his body came alive in a way it never had before, very aware of Bucky’s presence at his side.

 

It had been considered wrong then, but he understood that things had changed. Sam had spent a lot of nights quietly discussing it with Steve, how things were different and there were entire spectrums of sexualities and genders that were now accepted and talked about. Sam had even gone so far as to share with Steve one of his deepest wounds; that Riley, his wingman, hadn’t just been a fellow soldier and close friend, but a lover that he had not only shared whispered conversations with, but his body as well during long nights out in the field. And it was okay for him to want and love more than just the opposite gender, and he now understood that he did not have to hide that want or love out of fear.

 

So it was acceptable now, recognized. Yet still, he and Bucky had never talked about it. Bucky could be very circumspect about certain things, and after their conversation a few months back when Bucky asked if anything had ever happened between them, he hadn’t said anything more. Just kept going on about his life, his recovery, as he had been. Then there had been his breakdown and all of its repercussions, and both of their energies had been needed to help Bucky heal. But apparently James Buchanan Barnes had just been biding his time, gathering his intel from a distance, while Bucky pulled all his resources into himself, located his target in his crosshairs, and waited for the exact right second to pull the trigger.

 

Steve didn’t think he would survive the shot.

 

There was a knock, and then Bucky was stepping into his room, closing the door behind him. He leaned back against it, his arms crossed as he stared at Steve, his head cocked ever so slightly to the side, a few strands of his hair brushing his shoulders. He stood there, studying Steve in that perfect silence he could wrap around himself, enveloped in it like a cloak, while Steve’s heartbeat pounded and thudded in his own ears.

 

“Why’d you run?” he finally asked.

 

“I’m tired Buck, and it’s been a long day. Thought I’d try to get some sleep.” Steve knew it was the worst lie he had ever told, but it was all he could think of at that instant. As expected, Bucky wasn’t fooled.

 

“Uh-huh.” He continued to stare, watching Steve, his finger cocked on that trigger, for another long moment before he continued. “So let me ask you something else, Stevie.”

 

“’Kay.”

 

“When I asked you if we were ever anything more to each other, you told me yes. That still true?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve found himself admitting. There was no sense in denying it. The truth was already out there. All that was left for Steve was to wait and see what Bucky would do next.

 

“And then when I asked you if I ever forced myself on you, you told me no. Still the truth?”

 

“Yeah Bucky, that’s still the truth.”

 

Bucky remained where he was by the door, and there was the ever so slightest flicker in his eyes, Bucky reaching back to verify what Steve had just told him. It lasted for less than an instant before Bucky lifted his gaze to meet Steve’s head on. And then…

 

And then…

 

Bucky pulled the trigger.

 

“Did you want me to touch you like that?”

 

Steve took the shot, felt its thunder rocking through his bones. He closed his eyes, and took a deep, shivering breath.

 

“Yeah Bucky, I did,” he whispered. It was the truth, almost a century old, and it was long past time he set it free. “I’d been waiting for you to touch me like that my whole life.”

 

Silence, heavy and thick in the air. Until it was broken eventually by the nearly noiseless tread of Bucky’s footsteps coming closer to Steve’s bed.

 

“Are you still waiting for me to touch you like that, Stevie?”

 

Steve took yet another deep breath, just as shivery and almost as weak before he whispered, “ _Oh god, yes._ ”

 

Bucky laughed, low, deep and very, very satisfied, before suddenly he was climbing into Steve’s bed.

 

“Well then Stevie, roll over. I think I remember exactly how to take care of you.” Bucky shifted and pushed, gently urging Steve to lie on his side, before he was pressing his weight all along the line of Steve’s body, where he laid a single, solitary kiss, hot and wet, to the back of Steve’s neck. “And I’ve been waiting over seventy-five years to get another taste.”

 

And then his hands, his hands, one hot and strong, the other cool and metallic, were sliding under Steve’s shirt and over his skin.

 

It was nothing how Steve remembered it. They were different men now, with different bodies. Yet still, _still_ , Bucky knew, as he had always somehow known, just how to touch Steve’s body to get it to do whatever he wanted. Cool a fever, ease a cough, stroke, stroke, stroke his skin so that Steve would have given him anything he wanted, do anything Bucky asked of him, if it meant that Bucky kept touching him like that.

 

He was bigger than he had been back then, stronger, his body a perfect match for Steve’s, which was bigger and stronger too. Yet he still, _still_ treated Steve not as if he was weak, but something sacred, something precious, that he was born to shelter and care for, as he wrapped them up in the blanket of his own heat and set them both on fire.

 

He pulled Steve’s shirt off, tossing it carelessly somewhere to the floor, before his arms were once more around Steve’s body, while he mapped the back of Steve’s neck with searing, little kisses and strokes of his tongue, all the while whispering, ‘ _Stevie, Stevie, Stevie_ ,’ against Steve’s ear, into his skin, branding his claim. He kissed and he licked and he nipped, soothing any sting with a cool little blow, before he pressed his face into the back of Steve’s hair and inhaled deeply with a low groan.

 

And all the while, his hands explored the rest of Steve’s body. He dragged his fingers over Steve’s pecs, swirled their tips over his nipples, giving each a playful little tug, before he dragged and pressed his palms over the muscles of Steve’s abdomen, pulling Steve back into the cradle of his own hips.

 

Steve felt it then, for the first time in over seventy-five years, the thrust of Bucky’s erection, nesting hot and hard against his still clothed ass, rubbing, rubbing, rubbing against him.

 

But only for a second. Because suddenly Bucky’s hands were moving again, unbuckling Steve’s belt and lowering his zipper with a fascinating dexterity, as he reached in and took Steve’s throbbing, aching, burning shaft into his hand.

 

“ _Oh god, oh god, Bucky, Buck,_ ” Steve heard himself gasp, and then moan when Bucky tightened his fingers and began to move.

 

Bucky laughed, warm and pleased, his fingers rippling over the skin of Steve’s dick. And all the while he whispered and murmured into Steve’s ear, praising him softly, offering encouragement and pleasure in every breathless word.

 

“So beautiful, Stevie. So beautiful. You’ve always been the most beautiful thing in the world to me.”

 

Hot kisses, small, slick licks, a little nibble here and a tiny prick of teeth there, on Steve’s neck, his jawline, the lobe of his ear.

 

Steve felt something else he had not felt in over seventy-five years. The fingertips of Bucky’s left hand, just the very tips of them, pressing and running themselves down the column of his throat. Then there was something new, something Bucky had never done to him before. The feel of Bucky’s teeth, sharp and hot at the point where Steve’s neck met his shoulder, suddenly biting down into his flesh at the exact same instant when he tightened his hand even further around Steve’s dick and squeezed.

 

Steve’s entire body, his entire being, simply exploded.

 

Flesh and blood, starshine and light, everything and nothing, all of Steve shattering into a million pieces, yet still held safe, gathered close and kept warm in the shelter of Bucky’s arms.

 

And then, and then, just as Steve was coming back to himself, trembling, weak and overwhelmed, there was another cry he had only ever heard once, another sound that he had not heard in far too long, the most beautiful echo in his ears; the soft, little laugh that escaped Bucky’s throat as he came against the back of Steve’s ass.

 

But Bucky wasn’t done with him yet. Oh no. Because just like he had on that night so very long ago, once Steve had stopped shivering and shaking, he let go of Steve’s dick and brought it up to his lips, where very, very slowly he deliberately licked all of Steve’s spend from his fingers.

 

“Oh yeah, I remember this,” he laughed again. “And oh god Stevie, you still taste just as sweet now as you did back then.”

 

Then he was pulling on Steve, rolling him to his back so that he could look down at him for just a second, before he was leaning forward and pressing his lips to Steve’s in their first, but not last, kiss in over seventy-five years.

 

***

 

“You okay Stevie?” Bucky whispered maybe a moment or a millennia later, when he finally pulled back. Steve opened his eyes to see the clear blue of Bucky’s staring down at him, warm and soft, but also filled with concern. He was checking in, wanting to make sure, as he always did, that Steve was safe, even in his own skin.

 

“Uh-huh,” Steve heard himself agreeing. Bucky smiled.

 

“Oh god, look at your face. You’ve got stupid sex brain going on, don’t you?” he laughed.

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

Bucky continued to laugh, obviously very pleased with whatever he was seeing, but then fell quiet as Steve reached up and ran his fingers through Bucky’s hair.

 

“Heya Stevie,” he said softly.

 

“Hey Buck,” Steve was finally able to say.

 

“You good?”

 

“Yeah Bucky, I’m great.”

 

“You’re fucking adorable right now, is what you are,” Bucky snickered. He shifted, moved so that he was lying over Steve, but not quite resting skin to skin. “But that’s all right. You just lie there and bask in the afterglow. I’ll clean the rest of this up.”

 

“What?” Steve asked. But Bucky was already slowly slithering his body backward, dragging his tongue down Steve’s chest as he went. He was once again kissing, licking, lapping as he moved lower and lower, flicking his tongue into the dip of Steve’s navel, before he was going even further and using the tip of his tongue to ever so carefully wipe up the few drops of spend that had escaped his hand.

 

“Oh god, oh Jesus, Bucky, what the hell?” he gasped. He was hard again, as if he hadn’t just come, as if he had never come before, and his body had been waiting all of his life for Bucky to touch it.

 

Maybe it had.

 

“You’re about to find out,” Bucky purred at him. He leaned back, so that he was resting on his heels in between Steve’s legs, reaching forward for the waistband of Steve’s jeans. He jerked and pulled, and suddenly Steve’s jeans were torn free from his legs.

 

“Holy shit Buck!”

 

“All that training,” Bucky said with his sly little smile as he tossed Steve’s jeans over his shoulder and onto the floor. “Hadta be good for something.” He reached for his own hair and pulled it free from the band he had tied it back with. He snapped it onto his wrist, shook his hair out and slowly started to lean forward.

 

“What the hell are you doing Buck?” Steve asked.

 

“What do you think?” Bucky murmured, before he was leaning forward even further, so close that Steve felt the heat of his breath against the very tip of his cock. He paused then, for just a second, and glanced up at Steve. “I know you gotta thing for my hair Stevie. And you can pull on it all you want. You’re gonna need something to hang onto in a sec. Just don’t shove my head down. I hate that.”

 

And then he closed the distance between them, slowly wrapped his lips around the head of Steve's dick, and started to suck.

 

Steve froze, unable to move, unable to breathe, his eyes locked on the top of Bucky’s head in between his legs. Because his hair, his hair, it had come tumbling down in a sleek dark wave over his shoulders and the silk of it, the smooth, velvety tickle of it, was kissing the inside of Steve’s thighs at the exact same moment as Bucky’s hot and wet tongue began to run along the underside of the crown of Steve’s cock.

 

“ _Oh fuck, oh fuck, holy shit Bucky, holy shit, oh god don’t stop, please don’t stop, please_ ,” Steve heard himself begging.

 

“Not intending to, Stevie. This is the one of the best parts, and I’ve been waiting over seventy-five years to be able to do this to you,” Bucky paused only long enough to say.

 

“You…You actually like doing this?”

 

“Oh yeah Stevie, I love it.” Bucky leaned forward again and pressed the tiniest of kisses to the tip of Steve’s dick, sucking up the silvery little pearl of moisture gathered there.

 

“You’ve done this before?” Steve was surprised enough to ask. Bucky shifted slightly, staring up at Steve, his eyes narrowing.

 

“If you’re asking questions, then I ain’t doing this right,” he said. “Now shut up Stevie and hang on. I’m just getting started.”

 

He crouched lower, pressing his hands at the top of Steve’s thighs so that he could spread them apart, and then swallowed all of Steve down into the cavern of his mouth.

 

Steve cried out, his hands reaching to grasp Bucky’s hair, where his fingers locked and just as Bucky predicted, he hung on for dear life.

 

Because Bucky was everywhere. His hair brushed against the inside of Steve’s thighs, only to be followed by the feeling of his hands, sometimes soft, sometimes digging in with his fingertips. His tongue, his mouth, his lips were all over Steve’s length, tracing the veins, teasing his foreskin, even nibbling once, ever so gently on the shaft. Until he shifted tactics and was slurping, sucking, pulling Steve’s nuts into his mouth, one by one, where he made sure to bathe each in his own spit. Then he changed his mind yet again, and wrapped his lips back around Steve’s erection, pulling it down, down, down toward the back of his throat, making greedy, hungry little noises of pleasure. Then it was his hands again, cradling Steve’s balls, heat and flesh, and _oh god,_ the coolness of metal against their thin, overly sensitized skin. Steve had only a second to realize that Bucky was fondling him with his left hand, before Bucky again did something with his mouth, and Steve felt his dick slide all the way down into the back of Bucky’s throat.

 

“Oh Jesus Buck! I’m gonna… _I’m gonna…_ ” Steve could feel it, it was right there, the crest of his release surging forward. It just needed the slightest push, one more tiny little urge before it crashed.

 

And then Bucky hummed. His throat vibrated around the head of Steve’s dick in an impossibly tight clench, and once more, for the second time that night, Steve’s back arched, his eyes closed and everything in him shattered and exploded.

 

When he was finally able to open his eyes, it was to find Bucky once again looking down at him, a sweet smile on his face, while he gently ran the fingers of his right hand through Steve’s hair, pushing the sweat dampened locks from his forehead.

 

“You all right?” he asked softly, gently, sweetly, his eyes warm, his smile content.

 

“I think you broke me,” Steve whimpered. Bucky chuckled.

 

“Nah,” he said, nestling Steve’s temple with his cheek. “It’ll take a hell of a lot more than that.”

 

Steve took a few more shuddering breaths, before he realized that Bucky was lying directly on top of him this time, his hips snuggly cradled between the vee of Steve’s thighs.

 

“You good?” he finally remembered to ask, reaching down. He didn’t know what he was going to do; his brain was so frazzled, even speaking took too much effort. But Bucky had given and not asked for anything in return. Steve wanted to make sure Bucky understood it was appreciated, and that his pleasure was just as important to Steve as his own.

 

“Yeah Stevie, I’m good,” Bucky told him, pressing his lips instead of his cheek against Steve’s temple this time. “I told you it was one of my favorite things.”

 

“Oh god,” Steve whimpered again, closing his eyes. “You’re gonna kill me Buck, you really are.”

 

“But what a way to go, huh?” Bucky laughed. Steve opened his eyes to see Bucky’s beaming face smiling at him.

 

“The best,” he agreed. And then he was reaching up with his own right hand, and cradling the back of Bucky’s head, before he pulled him down and into their second, but not the last kiss, in over seventy-five years.

 

***

 

The next morning, Steve woke to a cool breeze, soft sheets, and the scents of cinnamon and clove in the air. When he opened his eyes, there was Bucky, lying on his side, still asleep in his bed.

 

After they had finally been able to stop kissing, there had been a bit of shifting, the removal of any remaining clothes, and a couple of adjustments, before they were able to settle down for the night. Bucky could only sleep with his back to the wall and his eyes on the door, usually on his right side so that his metal arm would be free to fend off any incoming attack. Steve also tended to sleep on his right, and to his surprise, Bucky had no problem lying in bed with Steve behind him. So that was how they arranged themselves, lying close together, Steve with his chest pressed against Bucky’s back.

 

That was how they still were when Steve woke. They had moved apart a bit in their slumber, but not too far, pretty much remaining as they had been. Except the sheets must have shifted downward in the night, and for the first time, the very first time, Steve was able to see, unhidden by any clothing, Bucky’s shoulder.

 

It was a brutal join of flesh and metal, with a pronounced and jagged crisscross of coiled scarring that ran over his shoulder and under his armpit. The borders bled from the milky pale of Bucky’s skin, to an almost blood red twisting of flesh and into the cool, smooth metal of his arm. It looked angry and wretched, this unnatural combination of body and tech, fused as it was to Bucky’s bones and skin, whose attachment Steve knew had caused Bucky nothing but agony and pain.

 

“Ugly, isn’t it?” Bucky said softly into the quiet, morning air.

 

“No,” Steve answered just as softly with a shake of his head. “It’s not Buck.” And then he was reaching out, and lightly running his fingers over the line of scarring, feeling the bumps and ridges. It wasn’t, not really. It just was. It was a part of Bucky, like his hair, his blue eyes, or his million different smiles. A part of him neither of them would have wanted, but also a part of him that had helped him to survive into the here and now, so that he was lying together with Steve in his own bed. There was a beauty in that, one that could not be denied.

 

“Does it hurt?” Steve asked in that same soft voice. He leaned forward to very gently press a kiss to the scars where the spine of Bucky’s scapula would have run if it had still been made of muscle and bone instead of metal and alloy, watching as a wave of goosebumps rose and then rolled up along Bucky’s neck.

 

“It always hurts Stevie, all the time,” Bucky answered. “But not as bad as before.” Steve nodded and then laid another kiss to that same patch of skin before he pulled back.

 

“How’d you know I was up?”

 

“I could feel you staring.” They were keeping their voices quiet, neither of them seeming to want to disturb the stillness of this new morning between them. “Hear you thinking.”

 

“Do we need to talk about it?” Steve finally dared to ask.

 

“I dunno. Do we?”

 

“I think we do,” Steve admitted. Because if this had just been a one-time thing, blowing off seventy-five years of delayed tension, Steve had no idea what he was going to do. Bucky had overwhelmed him last night, taken him apart and imprinted himself on every single inch of Steve’s being. And if it was only going to be this once, if Steve was once more only going to get a single night before everything again was ripped out of his hands, he needed to know now. It would devastate him, but he still needed to know.

 

“I really think we don’t.”

 

“Are you serious Buck?” Steve asked, feeling the fear rising, snaking its way up from his stomach and wrapping around his throat. But then Bucky was moving for the first time, turning over to lie on his back so he could look up at Steve.

 

“You said last night that you were waiting for over seventy-five years for me to touch you like that again.” His eyes were clear and bright as he spoke, steady and calm, with no shadows or flickers of trepidation. “But I’ve been waiting even longer than that. And if I did something wrong, if I shouldn’t have come up here and done what I did, then I am so, _so sorry_. And I would take it back if I could.” He reached out, obviously wanting to run his fingers through Steve’s hair, but stopped himself. “But I love you Stevie. I have always loved you, my entire life, since I was seven years old. You’re it for me. You’ve always been it for me.” He lowered his hand and then pressed his head further back into the pillow. When he next spoke, for the first time there was tremble in his voice, matching the one in Steve’s heart.

 

“I know I come with a lot of baggage and bullshit, Steve, and it’s not fair to ask anyone, but especially you, to try and take that on. So, if you don’t feel the same, and it’s okay if you don’t, just let me know. It’ll hurt, but we’ll adjust. We’ve always been able to adjust, and no matter what, I’m always going to have your back.” He swallowed. “Just, you know, it’s okay if you don’t want this-“

 

“Shut up. Shut up. _Shutupshutupshutup!_ ” Steve was lunging forward before he even realized he was speaking, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s shoulders and pulling him in tight, so that he could cover his face with kisses, a million tiny, little kisses over his forehead, his cheeks, his eyelids and then his lips. “I love you, I love you, I have always loved you, James Buchanan Barnes. You. And you’re it for me too. I don’t want anybody else. Just you Bucky. Just you.” He felt, more than heard Bucky’s relieved sigh, and then the slide of his arms as they wrapped themselves around his shoulders, pulling him in just as tightly, holding him close. “Always you.” And then they were kissing, pressing their lips together just because they finally, _finally_ could.

 

It was a kiss that without any words said:

 

_Hello_

 

and

 

_I’ve been waiting for you_

 

and

 

 _Finally_  

 

and most importantly of all,

 

_I love you_

 

And

 

_Yes_

_Yes_

_Yes._

 

***

 

When they were able to pull apart, Steve lowered his head to rest his chin on Bucky’s chest so he could look up at him, and Bucky finally allowed himself to reach up and run his hand through Steve’s hair.

 

“Doing all right there, Stevie?” Bucky asked, scratching his fingers over Steve’s scalp. Steve closed his eyes and hummed.

 

“Doing pretty awesome Buck.”

 

“And you’re okay, after everything I did last night?”

 

“Mmm-hmm,” Steve sighed, and then cracked one eye open to stare at Bucky. “And you really enjoyed it? What you did?”

 

“What? The blow job?” Bucky moved his fingers down from Steve’s scalp to the back of his neck where he continued his soothing scratching.

 

“Oh yeah. I’ve always loved doing that,” Bucky admitted shamelessly. “Even just thinking about it gets me going.” He shifted slightly, so that his hips brushed against Steve’s. And there, as if to prove his point, was the rise of his erection, pressing against Steve’s skin.

 

“Really?” Steve asked.

 

“Hell yeah,” Bucky smiled. Steve shifted his own hips, just slightly, and discovered that _oh hey,_ him too. He looked away for just a second, to gather his courage, feeling a blush rising on his cheeks.

 

“Can I…maybe give it a try?” he finally managed to breathe.

 

“Are you asking if you can give me a blowjob?” Bucky chuckled. “Really Steve, as if that’s a question you ever have to ask a man.” He paused, his expression turning serious. “But only if you really want to. Don’t think you ever have to force yourself to do something you don’t want to because you think I expect it.”

 

“No, I do. I really, really kinda do.” Steve realized how true those words were as soon as they escaped. Because he did. He really, _really_ did. He wanted to see, to feel, to taste for himself. Even more than that, he wanted to give back to Bucky what he had given Steve last night. The heat and suction and unbelievable pleasure of it, through his lips and mouth and tongue.

 

“Well then,” Bucky said, letting go of Steve to clasp his hands behind his head on the pillow. “Have at it.”

 

“Any words of wisdom before I start?” Steve asked, lifting himself on his hands and knees over Bucky.

 

“There ain’t no wrong way to give a blowjob Stevie. Just take your time and do whatever feels good to you. You’ve always been smart. You’ll be able to figure it out.”

 

“Asshole.”

 

“Dumbass.” But then Bucky suddenly shut up, because Steve had lowered his head and taken Bucky’s nipple into his mouth and started to suck. “Oh yeah, you’re going to do just fine.”

 

Bucky was as good as his word. He wasn’t passive, but he did allow Steve to explore and experiment to his heart’s content. Bucky had come in like a thunderstorm last night, overwhelming Steve. But it was Steve’s turn now, and he wanted to learn and discover all of the secrets of Bucky’s body, what would make him shiver or sigh out in pleasure. A tiny bit of teeth to his nipple. The glide of Steve’s tongue over his ribs. A breath blown softly over the dip of his navel. Little kisses over the thin trail of dark hair that led down to his groin. All of it causing Bucky to either gasp or twitch, or for goosebumps to rise on his skin.

 

Until Steve was finally there, face to face with Bucky’s erection. He took a minute to stop and stare, studying and committing to memory all its details.  Because it was different from anything he had done before, different than his own dick.

 

But also stunningly, strikingly beautiful.

 

Long and thick, with a webbing of veins that was barely concealed by his foreskin, which was pulled back tight over the entire length. A dark pink that matched his nipples, rising proud and strong from a neatly cropped thatch of thick and silky dark hair. At the very tip, a small, clear drop of fluid beaded, only to build up and then slowly run down the side, leaving a thin, glistening trail that caught the light as Steve followed it with his gaze. As Steve continued his study, he was surprised to find that his mouth was watering, and he was suddenly hungry for it, understanding why Bucky had pulled Steve’s own dick into his mouth, devouring it as he had.

 

He hesitated, not out of fear or revulsion, but because this would be his first time doing this, and he wanted to savor the anticipation of this initial taste. So he reached out instead with his hand, running it over Bucky’s length, releasing a startled little laugh when it twitched against his fingers. It was hot beneath his touch, pulsing, throbbing in time with Bucky’s heartbeat, his foreskin a taut sheath of silk and heat that responded to every single one of Steve’s exploratory strokes and trail along its veins.

 

Suddenly Steve couldn’t wait any longer, and bending forward, he wrapped his lips around the head. Bucky gasped and jerked, laughing on a long, slow exhale. Steve, who had done this before but only to women, was surprised by how it felt in his mouth. His tongue was met by not a slick, wet heat, but dry, smooth skin, except for that single drop that coated the back of his tongue. It was bitter and musky, one hundred percent the taste of Bucky, and Steve had to have more.

 

He began to explore, pulling back to lick around the edge of the head, or run curious kisses along the length. It was large and thick against his palate, heavy in his mouth, an undeniable presence that would not be ignored. He had to learn how to manipulate it, to move his tongue and teeth to coax it where he wanted it and get Bucky to make those sounds that were suddenly music to his ears.

 

He had always been an apt student, a quick learner, doing his best work on the field. And so Steve applied every ounce of his concentration and focus, his ultimate goal being to make Bucky scream.

 

He made a few mistakes, a bit too much teeth at first, and then trying to take too much, too soon, which had him pulling back to gag. But Bucky never criticized, only encouraged, whispering ‘ _a little less teeth, I like it when you lick it right under the head – oh yeah, just like that Stevie, just like that_ ’ or ‘ _not too much Stevie, you don’t have to take it all, not just yet. Use your hand to help you out instead, yeah, like that, that’s so good Stevie,_ ’ while running his fingers gently through Steve’s hair. Until he finally lost all of his words, his thighs falling open to brace against Steve’s shoulders, his neck arching back with a deep and throaty moan.

 

It was stunning, the sight of Bucky’s body languid and loose, completely open to Steve. Bucky was willing to let go of himself so Steve could do anything he wanted, as long as he didn’t stop. Steve understood then, as he continued to lick and suck and slurp and swallow, why this was one of Bucky’s favorite things. Because in between his legs, his own dick was throbbing with a constant, steady, burning ache, as insistent as it had been when Bucky had done this to him. He wanted to do this forever. He could have done this forever, if Bucky hadn’t abruptly started to tap his shoulder in warning, managing to grit out ‘ _Stevie, I’m gonna come_ ’ through clenched teeth. Thinking back to what Bucky had done the night before, Steve ignored him, pressed forward and hummed.

 

And felt the exact instant when Bucky’s body clenched hard and tight, his spine curling off from the bed, only to be followed by a low, grumbling growl. There was a rush of heat and wet filling Steve’s mouth, bitter and thick as it spread over his tongue and the down the back of his throat. But he swallowed it down, swallowed it all down, every last, salty drop of it, hungry for even more.

 

The only thing left after that was the pounding of Steve’s pulse in his own ears, and that low, quiet, raspy laugh Steve now knew was Bucky’s joyful recognition of his own release.

 

Steve pulled back, licking lips that felt flushed and swollen, let out a little laugh of his own, and then rested his forehead against the seam of Bucky’s upper thigh.

 

“Good?” he panted, suddenly feeling as breathless and exhausted as if he had been the one who had just come. Bucky was perfectly still for a few seconds, releasing his own gasps into the air, until Steve felt it again, the gentle caress of Bucky’s fingers in his hair, so soft, so sweet as they stroked over his temple and then around the whorls of Steve’s ear.

 

“Good, he wants to know,” Bucky finally managed to whisper, just a bit of his usual slyness in his voice. “Stevie, oh god Stevie, that wasn’t just good, that was _amazing_.” Steve laughed, pleased with himself. “What about you? Did you enjoy that?”

 

“Oh yeah,” Steve said, turning his head to the side so he could stare at Bucky’s cock, now laying heavy and languid against his thigh. “I totally get it now. Because holy shit, I want to do that again.”

 

Bucky laughed. “I can promise you, you’re going to get plenty of chances in the future.” As Steve stared at Bucky’s dick, shiny now with his own spit and what little of Bucky’s come that he hadn’t managed to swallow down, he was suddenly struck by an idea. Because he wondered if Zola’s serum was anything like Erskine’s, and if Bucky really understood what that meant for them. There had been so many things he hadn’t known, hadn’t been told by his captors, about what effects the serum would have on his body, and this, _this_ was one they were both going to end up enjoying.

 

“Yeah, I’m thinking sooner rather than later.” He lifted his head and very deliberately blew a slow, cool stream of air over the head of Bucky’s cock. And _oh look_ , it appeared as if their bodies were not so different after all, because Bucky’s dick twitched, once, twice, then began to slowly rise once again from his nest of curls.

 

“Holy shit, Stevie.” Bucky was staring down, his eyes wide with shock. “I think you’re going to be the one who ends up killing me.”

 

“Didn’t know about that, did you?” Steve asked, feeling a sly smile of his own spreading across his lips. It felt good to be the one who knew something Bucky didn’t for a change.

 

“Know what?”

 

“Those serums they injected us with,” Steve explained. “There were a whole lot of things I don’t think even they knew about. And this, this is definitely one of the better perks.”

 

“Holy shit. I did not know that. I just thought I was making up for lost time,” Bucky laughed, covering his face with his arm.

 

“Yeah well, looks like we both got a few things left to learn.” Steve turned his head and ran his tongue over the muscular line between Bucky’s hip and thigh.

 

“I guess we do,” Bucky said lowering his arm. Then suddenly he reached down, grabbing for Steve’s shoulders, easily pulling him up so that they were face to face. He smirked at Steve’s grumbled protest. “Don’t worry Stevie, you’ll get another chance. But I need to kiss you now. I’ve dreamed about tasting myself on you, and those pretty lips of yours need to be kissed. Then it’s going to be my turn. Because I still gotta few things left to teach you.”

 

And that’s exactly what they did, for the rest of their morning. Steve learned a lot during those first few hours of that early June day.

 

He also discovered that Bucky hadn’t been lying when he said he had to be careful with the plates. Because _holy shit_ did it sting when those sonovabitches caught and pulled on any hairs. But trimming, that definitely helped. Especially if you had someone else there to do it for you, right before they gave you your third blowjob of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> =^._.^=


	13. Explorations

A few hours later, after a long, luxurious nap, Steve came downstairs to find Bucky fixing them lunch. He was just there, in their kitchen making them something to eat, while the room was lit by the late afternoon sunshine. Such a plain, common, every day thing. But Steve couldn’t stop himself from leaning against the doorframe, staring, suddenly overwhelmed.

 

Because this, this was his now. This was his life and his home and what all of his days could be. Coming down from his bedroom after a morning of passion and heat, feeling loose and easy in his skin, to the man he loved, had always loved, standing in front of the stove, preparing them a meal. Just like he used to when they first lived here, as if it was as simple as that.

 

Bucky was his now. Not only his childhood companion, comrade in arms, or the best friend anyone could have ever asked for. But his, in all the ways Steve had always wanted but never thought he could have. Body and blood, heart and soul, for Steve to hold, cherish and love. _His_ , after all this time, when Steve had never wanted anything more. And if everything Bucky had said to him earlier that morning was true, then he was Bucky’s just as much. Had been Bucky’s, ever since that day their paths first crossed. Loved and wanted and cared for in equal measure, because that’s who they were. And this was how they were always meant to be.

 

So he could look, and he could hold and he could press kisses to the back of Bucky’s next while he ran his fingers through his hair, which Bucky had once again pulled up into a ponytail.

 

“You and my hair,” Bucky laughed quietly with a shake of his head as Steve did just that.

 

“It’s pretty,” Steve admitted. “I’ve always loved watching you mess with it.” Steve ran his hands down its length, curling its ends around his fingers to feel their smooth, silky softness.

 

“Is that why you always used to sit on the toilet and watch me whenever I was getting ready to go out?”

 

“Finally figured it out, did you?”

 

“I figured it out when you splashed half a bottle of Gatorade on your face when I pulled it back on our last run.”

 

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you, you asshole,” Steve complained, but he didn’t move away, or stop playing with Bucky’s hair. It was the most fascinating combination of colors, a subtle yet endless mix of minks, mahogany and deep, sable browns. Honey and earth, and oh, _right there,_ cinnamon and clove.

 

Bucky didn’t say anything as Steve continued his study of his hair. Just kept his attention on the pan in front of him, stirring together the ingredients with that easy precision of his.

 

“This is okay, isn’t it?” Steve asked a few seconds later when Bucky still hadn’t said anything. It may have been a long time coming, have felt to Steve like it was always meant to be, but there were still things they needed to learn and explore, what was okay and what wasn’t. But he had wanted this for so long and he was hoping Bucky felt the same way, at least partially.

 

But Bucky knew him, had always known him better than anyone else in the world, and he was quick to reassure.

 

“Yeah Stevie, it’s more than okay,” he said, twisting his head slightly to press a small, quick kiss to the side of Steve’s mouth, before he turned back to the stove. “And you can play with my hair anytime. In fact,”  Bucky paused, putting his spatula down, and reaching back to pull his hair out of its tie. “Here, have at it.”

 

It was such a sweet thing. And again, such a simple one, to stand behind your lover and play with their hair while he prepared something for the both of you to eat. A simple pleasure, but one Steve never had before. There had never been any time, privacy, or that amount of intimacy with any of his past lovers. Peggy had come close, and they thought it was something they would have time for in the future. But their paths had diverged, Peggy’s life going off on its own course, and Steve’s coming full circle somehow, to the first person he had ever loved, and the one he had always truly wanted to be with. The comfort and intimacy was already there, their roots already nested within one another, and as long as they continued to tend to them as they had been, then together they could bloom into something endless, vast and deep. Not a garden, but the forest of their lives, and he could not help but wonder what their colors would end up being.

 

“Whatcha making?” he asked, resting his chin on Bucky’s shoulder a few minutes later when he finally had enough of playing with Bucky’s hair. For now.

 

“Spaghetti and meatballs,” Bucky answered. “Meatballs are already in the fridge. Just need to pop them in the sauce once it’s ready.”

 

“You can make that?” But he was distracted, because Bucky’s neck was right there, and he smelled so good, even better than the aromas of garlic, basil and oregano he was stirring up into the air.

 

“Emailed Mrs. Salvatore for the recipe. She said to say hello, by the way.”

 

“Hmmm,” Steve hummed, running his nose over the column of Bucky’s neck. He was sensitive there, if the way the tiny hairs at the base were suddenly standing on end were any indication. Especially when Steve pressed a kiss against the bite mark he had left there that morning.

 

“Geroff, Stevie,” Bucky grumbled, rolling his shoulder to dislodge Steve’s lips. But he was shivering as he said it.

 

“Don’t think so.” Steve stepped forward, moving even closer so that their bodies were aligned front to back.

 

“We gotta eat.”

 

“Later.” Steve slid his arms around Bucky’s waist, pulling him in tighter.

 

“Sauce’ll burn.”

 

“Don’t care.” He ran his hands down Bucky’s chest, with a slow deliberation that made his intentions clear.

 

“Are you serious?”

 

“Very.” Steve nipped at Bucky’s earlobe, apparently another sensitive spot from the way Bucky shivered. But then he shook it off and nudged Steve away with his elbow.

 

“Right then,” he announced, moving the pan off the burner, before he shut off the stove and tossed the spatula into the sink. Then he turned around, grabbed Steve by his shoulders and pulled, bringing their mouths together in a crash of lips and skin and all-consuming heat. “Just don’t bitch at me when your stomach starts to growl.”

 

“Not gonna.” Steve was already panting, desperate for it, starving, but not for food as he leaned in and met Bucky kiss for kiss.

 

“Better not.” Bucky nipped at his lip, before he soothed the sting with his tongue, making it Steve’s turn to shiver. Steve lurched forward, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s hips, only the briefest flash of awareness reminding him to step to the side, before he hefted him up onto the counter top, and dove back in. Bucky laughed, obviously pleased with how Steve had so easily lifted him, and spread his legs, wrapping them around Steve’s waist. They were of a height, the breadth of their bodies a perfect match, and this brought their groins into an easy alignment. They started thrusting against each other, the hardness of both of their dicks easily felt in spite of pajama bottoms they wore, and clung and clutched and clasped.

 

“I’m not letting you out of the house for a week,” Steve panted into Bucky’s mouth, his hands clenched in his hair.

 

“We’re gonna run out of food,” Bucky gasped, his fingers digging into Steve’s shoulders as he tilted his neck to give Steve even better access.

 

“Delivery,” Steve said, or thought he may have said, because he was suddenly moaning. Bucky had shifted his hips, lifting slightly, bringing them even closer together. His hands let go of Steve’s shoulders, and Steve mourned their loss. But only for a second, before he felt them at the waistband of his pants, shoving them down and exposing Steve’s cock to the warm air. Then Bucky shifted again, and it was their dicks’ turn to come together in a kiss that was unlike any Steve had ever felt, hardness against hardness. When Bucky added his right hand, transforming the kiss into a long, steady stroke, Steve’s knees buckled and he had to cling to Bucky to keep himself from collapsing against the cabinets. “ _Oh Jesus Bucky, oh fuck, don’t stop, oh fuck, oh fuck, don’t stop._ ”

 

Bucky’s response was a low, throaty moan that didn’t last long, before he had his other hand clenched in Steve’s hair, pulling his head back so that he could lick into Steve’s mouth with a slick and knowing tongue, swallowing down every single one of Steve’s moaning, desperate, needy gasps.

 

They never did get around to eating the meal Bucky started to prepare. But the meatballs were in the refrigerator and would keep. Steve kept his promise, and didn’t bitch when his stomach growled.

 

He did break his promise about not letting Bucky out of the house for at least a week. In the end, it was two.

 

And that was just because they did eventually run out of food.

 

***

 

It was two of the best weeks of Steve’s life. They passed in a haze of warmth, sensation and glorious, glorious pleasure, as he and Bucky explored this new dynamic between them.

 

In some ways, it remained exactly the same as it always had been between them. With laughter, teasing and the easy-going back and forth they had shared for all of their lives. They each had their own intuitive ways of dealing with the other that they barely needed to rely on, because after so much time, both before their separation and after, they had imprinted on each other so thoroughly, it was something that simply just was.

 

It made this new aspect of their lives even better. There were a lot of differences, of that there was no doubt. But the groundwork had already been laid, the trust built, so they could move forward without any of the fears or hesitations that often accompanied the beginning of a new relationship, while still getting to enjoy the excitement of it.

 

Bucky made it easy.

 

He was passionate and attentive, generous with his knowledge. He could be teasing and playful, but he never mocked Steve when there was something he didn’t know. He was patient and always willing to let Steve explore to his heart’s content, offering advice but never pushing Steve beyond anything he wasn’t ready for.

 

Despite what his teammates or any others may have thought, Steve wasn’t inexperienced. He’d had lovers in his life, a couple of the dancers when he had been touring with the USO, Peggy, and then Sharon. But aside from that one night with Bucky, he had never been with a man, had never even allowed himself to consider it. However, he now could admit to himself, easier than before, that he liked the doe-like tilt in Sam’s eyes, or the breadth of Thor’s shoulders. Clint arms fascinated him, and he found himself occasionally wondering about what Bruce’s salt and pepper curls would have felt like. Fleeting urges or details he noticed, that caught his attention and made him wonder what it would be like. But none of it really mattered, because none of them were Bucky, could ever be Bucky. And Bucky was the boy, the lanky teen, the soldier and the man against which anyone else was going to be compared to, and forever found lacking. Another imprint on his body and mind that had always been there, now finally free to come out and play.

 

And play they did.

 

In the bedroom, the living room, the bathroom, and even once on the roof, where Bucky knelt in between Steve’s spread legs beneath the warm summer sun and gave Steve another blowjob that somehow made him yet again lose track of time. They explored and learned the feel of each other’s bodies; the warmth of a pulse point beneath the bend of a knee, a drop of sweat lapped up from the small of a back, the taste of come, slowly sipped from places hidden, dark and deep.

 

Bucky was unlike any previous lover from Steve’s life. Attentive, focused and absolutely devoted to making sure Steve experienced an almost obscene amount of pleasure with every new encounter. As Steve came apart again and again beneath Bucky’s hands, only to be carefully cradled and patiently put back together with soft kisses or soothing words, Steve had brief instances where he wondered how on earth any of Bucky’s past lovers let him go. How had those women and men (and it was now obvious there had been men as well) ever been able to let him out of their beds, their lives, when he was the most generous and intense lover Steve ever had.

 

It was so different lying with Bucky compared to anyone else Steve had shared that intimacy with in the past. Not only because he was a man, but because Bucky’s body had been enhanced just like his. So for the first time in his life, Steve could just let go. He was respectful, he would always be respectful. And there was never even the slightest intention to hurt Bucky; he would have slit his own throat before he ever did anything that deliberately hurt Bucky. But Bucky was strong, as strong as Steve, and he could take anything Steve‘s body could give. Steve didn't have to hold back, or worry that he would accidentally crush a wrist if he clenched too tight, or smother the body beneath him due to his weight.  They could share moments of unbelievable gentleness, (and they did, they did, and it was blissful and full of grace and peace). But if the mood struck, or Steve was overcome by an undeniable urge, he could flip Bucky onto his back and rut against him with all of his strength, and Bucky would merely gasp and laugh, before he was clenching Steve’s hair in his own hands, and breathing hot into Steve’s ear with that rasping voice of his. ‘ _Is that all you got? Come on, I know you can do better than that. I like it even harder. Oh yeah, just like that Stevie, just like that._ ’ On one occasion, when Steve had been so lost in everything Bucky had been doing, and all of his filthy, sinful little whispers in his ear, he had bitten hard enough into Bucky’s neck to break through the skin. Bucky had shuddered, gasping and moaning, before Steve felt the hot slick of his release against his thigh. Bucky spent the rest of the night fingering the bruise with a smile on his face, rolling his eyes at Steve when he tried to apologize, kissing him quiet before they settled beneath Steve’s sheets and fell asleep curled around each other. The next morning, the bruise had mostly faded, and Bucky would not stop grumbling about its absence, until Steve dragged him back upstairs and gave him another one, on his right shoulder this time.

 

That was something else that had changed between them. After their initial night together, Bucky stopped sleeping in his room, and spent his nights in Steve’s bed as if that was where he was always meant to be. Steve had been slightly disheartened the first time Bucky walked past Steve’s door without even stopping, heading straight for his own room. That had been the day they christened the chairs up on the roof, and Steve’s studio, and the stairs leading up to the third floor, and they had been pretty much inseparable ever since Bucky first crawled into his bed. So if Bucky needed a bit of space, Steve was not going to object. And it wasn’t as if Bucky was moving to another country. It was just, well, he found he slept best when Bucky was beside him.

 

Less than a minute later, Bucky waltzed back into Steve’s room wearing nothing but a pair of snug cotton boxer shorts, carrying a book, as if he owned the place (Steve had to admit that in spite of the fact that it was his name on the deed, the house and everything in it, including him, really did belong to Bucky). He climbed into bed, propped up some pillows, and settled back against the headboard on his usual side.

 

Steve fell asleep that night with his arms wrapped around Bucky’s waist, to the sound of pages quietly being turned and the thrum of Bucky’s heartbeat beneath his ear.

 

The next morning, as Steve lay with his legs spread and Bucky pressing down into him, rubbing his morning wood against Steve’s own, Bucky reached up and started digging through the top drawer of Steve’s nightstand.

 

“What have you been using for slick?” Bucky murmured, frantically digging through the contents.

 

“What?” Steve could only gasp.

 

“Lube Stevie, lube. What have you been using?”

 

“Spit,” Steve admitted, lifting up his hips, desperate for more friction. “I think – _oh jeez Buck_ – I think there may be some lotion somewhere in there though.”

 

“Spit?” Bucky sounded horrified, to the point where he actually stopped moving. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

 

“What?” Steve opened his eyes to see Bucky climbing from the bed. “Where the hell are you going?”

 

“Be right back,” Bucky said, dashing from the room, all of the while muttering under his breath, “ _It’s the twenty-first fucking century and he’s still using spit. Fucking dumbass._ ” He was back in under thirty seconds, a large plastic pump bottle in his hand.

 

“What the hell is that?”

 

“This Stevie, is lube,” Bucky held up the bottle, “The best fucking invention of the past one hundred years.”

 

“Really? Even better than Pop Tarts?” Steve couldn’t hide the doubt in his voice.

 

“Yeah, you just keep thinking that, Captain Chafed Dick,” Bucky said, bringing the bottle with him as he climbed back into bed. “In five minutes you’ll be singing a different tune.”

 

Twenty minutes later, Steve was staring up at the ceiling, panting, while Bucky ran his fingers through the hot, sticky and now very slick mess on his stomach.

 

“Where the hell did you find that stuff?” he gasped.

 

“Drug store.”

 

“Really?” Steve asked, lifting the bottle from where it had somehow managed to lodge itself against his thigh. He held it up to the light, twisting it back and forth, watching as the contents rolled from side to side. “Bottle’s half empty Buck.”

 

“It’s my fourth one,” Bucky told him, from where he had rested his head on Steve’s shoulder.

 

“Really?” Steve asked again.

 

“What can I say? I’ve been busy.” He said it without any shame or embarrassment, so plainly, so easily, Steve found himself bursting out in laughter. Against his skin, Bucky snickered. “Better than Pop Tarts though, right?”

 

“Oh hell yeah.” Steve continued to study the bottle, his mind starting to play with all of the ways this new discovery of Bucky’s could be put to use. “We’re probably going to need to get a refill soon.”

 

“Nah, I got plenty in my room. We’re good for a bit.”

 

“How many bottles?” Steve had to ask.

 

“Well, I’ve got that one, and this waterproof one that’s amazing in the shower. Oh, and one that heats up once it hits your skin. You’re really going to love that one Stevie.”

 

“Jesus Christ Bucky!” Steve laughed again. But then he shut up, because Bucky had wrapped his lips around Steve’s nipple and was slowly starting to suck.

 

They kept the bottle of lube on Steve’s nightstand, where it found a new home next to whatever book Bucky was currently reading.

 

***

 

Two days later, Steve had to concede defeat and admit that lube really was the best invention of the last century, when Bucky used it to show Steve there were even more ways for his body to lose itself in pleasure. Especially when his partner was as skilled and intent as Bucky was in making sure Steve knew he was adored.

 

They were lying together in bed, Steve on his back, Bucky on his side, leaning over him, while he ran his lubed right hand in a slow and steady clench over Steve’s cock. Steve eyes were closed, his head pressed back against his pillow, floating in the soft, steady haze of bliss Bucky had cocooned him in, while he stroked Steve’s dick and delicately traced the ridges of Steve’s ear with the tip of his tongue. Everything around him was fuzzy and warm, his body loose and easy, when Bucky shifted his hand slightly, and Steve felt the gentle brush of Bucky’s fingertip over a spot that had never been touched before. Steve jerked and opened his eyes to see Bucky staring down at him, carefully studying his face.

 

“Is this okay? Can I touch you here?” he asked, keeping his finger where it was.

 

“Yeah Buck, you can,” Steve nodded. “Just surprised me, that’s all.” Bucky began circling his finger slowly, keeping the pressure simultaneously steady and light, studying Steve’s face, watching for any change in his expression.

 

“How does that feel? Is it good?” His voice was a whisper in the dark, a soft susurrus against Steve’s skin.

 

“Mmm, yeah. It’s good Buck, it’s good.” And it was. Strange at first, more of a tickle than a caress, but Steve’s body was warming, relaxing into the touch, especially once Bucky began to increase the pressure. “It’s nice. I like it.”

 

Steve closed his eyes and just breathed, wondering how what Bucky was doing could feel so soothing while at the same time his heartbeat started to race and something deep in his lower body began to clench. Bucky was using two fingers now, just the very tips of them, to gently circle the rim of Steve’s asshole. Then he pressed, ever so slightly, and Steve’s body jerked once more, but he found himself lifting his knees so his thighs fell open to expose himself even further to Bucky’s touch.

 

“Hey Stevie.” Another whisper in the dark, hot against his ear. “Do you trust me?”

 

“You know I do.”

 

“Can I try something else? Cos I think you’re really going to like it.”

 

“Yeah Buck, anything you want.” And he meant it. He did trust Bucky, with his entire being and body. What Bucky was doing already felt so good he would have done anything Bucky asked of him, as long as he didn’t stop. Bucky hummed his pleasure, and Steve felt his weight shift, as he maneuvered himself down Steve’s body, somehow managing to keep his fingers where they were.

 

“Stevie, I need you to look at me Stevie. Come on love, open your eyes and look at me.” Bucky had never called him that before. They were not big on pet names, either of them. But for some reason, that night, in the dark, it was the most perfect thing Bucky had ever said to him. Unable to resist Bucky’s call, Steve opened his eyes.

 

Bucky was kneeling in between Steve’s spread thighs, his fingers pressed against Steve’s ass, Steve’s balls now cradled in his palm. And he was smiling.

 

“Hey,” Steve said, licking lips gone suddenly dry. Bucky looked so striking, so beautiful there, his loose hair gleaming in the dark, his face kissed by the soft glow from the streetlight pouring through the window. Steve almost wanted to stop so he could grab his pad and pencils and sketch Bucky, capturing the image of him in this moment forever. Almost, but not quite, because with just two of his fingers, Bucky had already started to take total control of Steve’s body, and it was the most willing surrender of his life.

 

“Hey,” Bucky answered, bending forward to lay a single kiss to the inside of Steve’s knee. Then he leaned back and stared down at Steve. “I need you to pick a hand.”

 

“What?” Steve was confused, not understanding what Bucky was asking of him.

 

“I need you to pick a hand Stevie.” He pulled his hand away, holding it up so that Steve could see it. “Right.” Then he lowered it and lifted his other one. “Or left.”

 

“It doesn’t matter Buck, either or. Why’d you stop?” Steve moaned.

 

“It’s going to really matter in less than a minute Stevie. You need to pick one,” Bucky insisted.

 

“I don’t care,” Steve insisted. “Jesus Christ, why the hell did you stop?” Bucky tilted his head to the side, studying Steve, his gaze sharp. It took Steve a few seconds to realize that there was just a bit of the Winter Soldier in his eyes, or as much of him as he ever saw anymore these days, before Bucky nodded and came forward, reaching for the bottle of lube.

 

“Yeah, okay,” Bucky said, pumping two generous spurts into his hand. “We’re going to use the right this time. I think you’re a bit too out of it already to really make up your mind. But don’t worry, I got you.” He crouched back on his heels, smiling so that the corners of his eyes crinkled. “And remember Stevie, you can pull on my hair as much as you want. Cos with the way you’re reacting, in a few minutes I think you’re really gonna need to.”

 

Then Bucky placed his hand back on Steve’s ass, circled his entrance with both of his fingers once, twice, and then a third time, before he shifted and slowly slid a finger, just one, inside of Steve’s body.

 

It was strange, this new invasion Steve hadn’t known to expect. He jerked and his body clenched. But Bucky was there, solid and reassuring, keeping the pressure steady as he continued to work his finger deeper with a soothing, circular motion.

 

“Yeah, I know, it feels weird,” Bucky reassured him. “But just breathe and give it a sec. It’s gonna feel real good in a minute.” Steve nodded and did as Bucky said, taking a deep breath, and then another, willing himself to relax.

 

It wasn’t that difficult. Once Steve got used to the sensation and allowed himself to experience it, explore this newness in his body, it was strangely easy to get lost in. So Steve closed his eyes and just let himself feel. He even began to start shifting his hips, trying to reach, match the rhythmic movement of Bucky’s finger.

 

Then Bucky added a second. There was definitely a stretch this time, and the beginnings of a burn, but Bucky was constant and steady, and that made it easier for Steve to remember to breathe.

 

“Oh look at you Stevie, look at you. You’re so beautiful like this, riding my fingers. You like it, don’t you? Feels good?” Bucky’s voice was a whispering, contented purr.

 

“Yeah Buck,” Steve breathed. “It feels really good.” And it did. The longer Bucky continued, the more Steve found himself enjoying it, something deep inside of him unfurling and wanting to reach for more.

 

Then Bucky did something with his fingers, crooking them slightly, and brushed over a spot inside Steve’s body that made every single one of his nerves feel as if it had been struck by lightning.

 

“Oh god!” Steve cried out, his entire body arching backwards.

 

“Ah,” Bucky exhaled. “There it is.” And then he did it again. And again. And again and again and again.

 

Steve could do nothing but let him, wanted to do nothing but let him, so long as Bucky kept touching him in a way that made every inch of his skin and drop of his blood tingle and shimmer. Steve heard himself gasping, begging, pleading with Bucky to never stop, while his dick began to leak a steady stream of pre-cum. Steve wondered how long he could last, how much more of it he could take before his body broke. And then Bucky did something that made it even worse.

 

Or a million times better.

 

He pressed with his fingers again, while adding the weight of his thumb against the root of Steve’s dick, the same time as he leaned forward and sucked the head of his cock into his mouth.

 

There was a burst of white light behind Steve’s eyes. He knew he had cried out, mewling like a kitten, but he couldn’t have cared less. Because he was floating, soaring, the only thing keeping him from flying away was Bucky’s soft voice whispering his name while he rained tender, gentle kisses all along Steve’s face.

 

“Back with me Stevie?” Bucky asked when Steve was finally able to open his eyes. His expression was soft and pleased, and he was running the fingers of his left hand through Steve’s hair.

 

“Yeah,” Steve said, swallowing around the dryness of his throat. He took a quick look around the room, surprised to find that nothing had changed, when his entire body felt completely different from how it had just a few hours ago.

 

“You okay?” Bucky checked, of course wanting to make sure that Steve was all right. It was who he was, who he had always been. Nothing they ever did between them was ever going to change that. “Was that good? Did you like it?”

 

“Holy shit Buck,” Steve laughed, dropping his head back against his pillow, while keeping his eyes on Bucky. “That was amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever come like that before. What the hell was that?”

 

“That Stevie,” Bucky leaned over and placed a gentle kiss to Steve’s forehead. Then to one of his eyelids, then the other, followed by one to Steve’s cheek, his nose, his temple. “Is just one of the things that makes it even better for fellas like us.”

 

“Just one? There’s more?” Steve could not believe it, because that, _that_ had been amazing and Steve doubted he would be able to walk for at least the next fifteen minutes.

 

“Oh yeah, there’s a lot more.”

 

“Oh Jesus,” Steve laughed again, closing his eyes. “You really are going to fucking kill me.”

 

“Nah,” Bucky chuckled. “Remember Stevie, I’ve been waiting over seventy-five years for this. I’m nowhere near done with you just yet.”

 

Then finally, finally Bucky pressed their lips together and kissed Steve as if there were nothing in the world more precious or beloved to him than Steve.

 

***

 

The following evening, on top of sheets that were damp with their sweat and air that was humid and thick with all of summer’s potential, Bucky showed Steve all of the other secrets held in his body, in those places that were heavy, dark and deep.

 

They were together, Bucky once more crouched over Steve’s body, three of his fingers now inside of him. Steve had asked, actually begged for it, wanting that rippling caress along his nerves from the night before. It was just as intense as it had been, but now that Steve had experienced it, he could ride it instead of being drowned, losing himself to the care and determination of all of Bucky’s attentions, allowing himself to accept the pleasure. As with everything Bucky did, had always done, especially when it came to Steve, he was giving it his all, making sure, with dirty whispers and strategically placed licks, Steve never forgot who it was that now held him in their hands.

 

Until Bucky leaned over, so close that the ends of his hair brushed Steve’s cheeks and whispered, “Can I fuck you Stevie?” low and sinful into his ear.

 

Steve opened his eyes to find Bucky looming over him, a silhouette of long hair and broad shoulders, remembering all of the times he had looked at Bucky, watched him move, and thought of a jaguar stalking its prey. But…

 

But…

 

This big cat had never once hurt him. Had chosen to curl itself around him instead, rumbling and sleek, shepherding him into its den, where Steve was sometimes stalked, but always, always protected.

 

To have that, to invite him into his own body, and know that its purring would be for him, only ever for him…

 

Steve wanted, oh god did he want.

 

“Yeah Bucky, yeah. You can,” he answered into the dark of the night, eager, hungry and excited.

 

Bucky paused, not in that perfect stillness he could sometimes wrap himself in, but something alive with the break between all the heartbeats that had ever been and would ever be, staring down at Steve.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Yeah Buck,” Steve said again. “I’m kinda desperate for it, I think.”

 

Bucky hummed and leaned forward to lick at the drop of sweat that had beaded at Steve’s temple, doing something with his fingers that had Steve gasping.

 

“Yeah,” he whispered, kissing the spot he had just licked. “I kinda think you are.” He began to shower Steve’s face with tiny little pecks, the corner of his eye, the arch of his eyebrow, the crest of his cheekbone. “Now listen to me Stevie. There are two ways we can do this. I can take you –“ Steve gasped at the very idea of it. Of course Bucky noticed, and he chuckled softly, rippling the fingers of his right hand again. “On your hands and knees, which since this is your first time, will be a little easier on you. Or…” Bucky stopped to nip lightly at Steve’s ear.

 

“Or?”

 

“Or we can do this with you on your back. It’ll be a bit more of a stretch, but that way I can look at your face while I fuck you.” He paused, shifting back slightly. “But it’s up to you. However you want it Stevie, just tell me and I’ll make sure you get everything you need.”

 

Steve didn’t even have to think about it. “Face to face. I wanna see you.”

 

“’Kay.” He could feel Bucky’s pleased smile against his hair, right before he placed yet another kiss, soft and tender, to his temple. He reached up with his left arm for a pillow, and then leaned back, kneeling between Steve’s spread thighs, his right hand pulling free. “Lift up,” he instructed with a gentle tap to Steve’s flank. Once Steve did as asked, Bucky placed the pillow beneath his hips, positioning Steve so his back was supported. “This’ll help.” He dug through the sheets for the bottle of lube, pumping three generous dollops into his palm, which he used to coat both of his hands. Then his fingers were back, slicker, sliding in even easier than they had before into Steve’s body, while he used his left hand to cover his own dick in a generous coating.

 

Steve watched as he did, unable to stop himself. Bucky’s cock was shiny and slick, just like his arm. They both glistened and glimmered from the moon’s soft light through their window, and Steve could not look away. The glint of his fingers as he wrapped them around himself and began to slick himself up, silver against the ruddy contrast of his skin was mesmerizing, and Steve again found himself wanting to reach for his sketchbook and pencils, so that he could capture this moment and preserve it forever.

 

“Oh god, I think I have a thing for your metal arm, Buck,” he heard himself admitting. Bucky froze and Steve felt his eyes widening in shock. “Uh…”

 

Bucky just smiled, easy and playful, and even laughed a bit.

 

“Well that’s a new one,” he said happily, raising on his knees slightly so that Steve could see even more. After three very deliberate strokes, he stopped, pulling his right hand free from Steve’s ass, and used his left to guide Steve’s leg up and over his shoulder. He leaned forward, and began to once more shower Steve’s face in hot, breathy, little kisses, until their lips finally met in a press of heat and wet.

 

“Now take a deep breath for me Stevie, and try to relax,” he instructed. “It’s gonna feel like too much at first, but don’t fight it. If you want me to stop, I will, but I’m going to go slow, and let you get used to it. Just remember to breathe, and let me in, cos in a minute you’re gonna feel really, _really good_.”

 

Steve reached up to put his hands in Bucky’s hair, wanting to hold him there, hold him still in this moment that Steve knew was going to change everything.

 

“Just remember that I love you Stevie, more than anything,” Bucky whispered with one final kiss.

 

And then he pushed.

 

There was a flare and a burn, and a deep, deep aching throb that stretched and pulled at Steve’s body in a way it had never been before. It did hurt, and he had to struggle to remember Bucky’s words and not clench. But it wasn’t too bad, and it certainly wasn’t the worst pain his body had ever felt.

 

And Bucky, Bucky was steady and calm and patient. He soothed with both his hands and his words, guiding Steve through it, reminding him to relax and breathe, his fingers running over Steve’s side, his stomach, circling just above his heart. “That’s it Stevie, that’s it. Just relax and breathe. You’re doing so good, you’re so beautiful. Just relax, it’s gonna get better, I promise you.”

 

His words were the truth, because suddenly it did. Something inside of Steve shifted, let go, and all he could feel was the hard and hot slide of Bucky’s cock breaching deep into his body. Long and thick inside of him, a throbbing, heavy presence that would not be denied. And it felt _so. Fucking. Good._

 

Steve’s eyes shot open. He hadn’t realized he had closed them, and when he looked up, it was to see Bucky staring down at him, an expression of shock on his face that Steve knew matched the one on his own.

 

“Hey Stevie.” His voice was trembling.

 

“Hey Buck.”

 

“How ya doing?” he asked.

 

“Good, good, I’m good,” Steve panted. “Are you in?” It was a redundant question. Steve could feel him, would probably always feel him there in the clench of his ass for the rest of his life.

 

“Yeah Stevie, I’m in.” Another kiss, another shared breath. “All the way.” He shifted his hips slightly, the pulsing length of him dragging itself all along the sparking nerves of Steve’s inner walls. “And you feel so good. I always knew you would, but oh God Stevie, you’re so hot and so tight, and oh god, can I move Stevie? Please?”

 

Steve could only groan in response, needing to close his eyes and place himself, as he always had, into the safety of Bucky’s hands.

 

Then Bucky began to move.

 

He kept his word, and never pushed too hard or too fast. Just kept thrusting into Steve with long, slow, steady strokes that rocked Steve’s body and caused deep ripples of pleasure to spread from his ass and into the very tips of his fingers and toes. It if wasn’t for Bucky’s arms, Steve would have lost himself completely, disappeared into a million tiny pieces that would have flown away, lost forever to the winds.

 

Steve had no idea how long it lasted, only that he was burning, melting in this bounty of pleasure and joy that Bucky poured into his skin, moaning out into the dark, calling Bucky’s name.

 

Until Bucky shifted, changed the angle of his thrusts, and circled the metal tips of his fingers around the crown of Steve’s cock, and then there was nothing, _absolutely nothing_ that could have stopped the sudden outpouring of Steve’s release as it crashed through his body.

 

And then, if it was at all possible, it got even better. Because just as Steve was coming down, as he began to remember that he had a body made of flesh and blood and bone, he heard Bucky cry out. He opened his eyes in time to see every muscle and vein in Bucky’s neck tighten, as a deep shudder ran through his body, feeling Bucky’s dick swell inside of his body as it filled him with a hot, wet release.

 

Bucky held still for a moment, his arms trembling from where they had curled around Steve’s shoulders, before he laughed and then collapsed in a boneless, panting heap on top of Steve’s chest.

 

They lay there together, sticky and covered in sweat, gasping against each other’s skin. Until they could start to lift fingers and hands to run them through each other’s hair or down the length of a back.

 

“You okay?” Bucky asked as he ran the tip of his nose gently over Steve’s cheekbone. It was Steve’s turn to laugh.

 

“Holy shit Buck.” Steve entire body felt loose and easy, warm, relaxed and unbelievably satisfied. “You really gotta ask?”

 

“You enjoyed it?”

 

“Yeah Buck, I really, really did,” Steve sighed out. Bucky hummed his pleasure, closed his eyes, and pressed his face into Steve’s neck.

 

“Good,” was all he said. And he meant it. It was as simple as that for him, and it always had been when it came to Steve. Over seventy-five years later, and that had never changed.

 

They stayed like that, curled around each other, catching their breath, Bucky still inside of his body. Then Bucky lifted his head, kissed his chin, and shifted.

 

“Okay,” he told Steve. “Deep breath, I’m gonna pull out now.” Steve nodded to show he had heard, and did as Bucky told him. He felt the pull, the reverse of what it had been before, and found himself shivering, his body already mourning the loss of Bucky’s heat inside of it. Bucky rose up so that he was again kneeling between Steve’s spread thighs, digging around through the sheets until he found what he was looking for, and held up a t-shirt.

 

“I’m gonna clean you up now,” he said.

 

“That better not be mine, you bastard,” Steve told him. Bucky chuckled, but then titled his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he stared down at Steve’s ass. His expression changed, going from warm and open, to suddenly very hungry and deliberate.

 

“Yeah, you know what?” Bucky tossed the shirt over his shoulder and reached out with his left hand, running his fingertips over the furl of Steve’s asshole, where he could feel the thickness of Bucky’s spend slowly leaking from his body. Just by the look in his eyes, Steve knew he was in trouble. “There are better ways to clean you up, and we don’t want to waste a single drop.”

 

Steve needed to remember that just like him, Bucky was also a super soldier. And he had all of the strength and endurance that came with that. He grabbed Steve’s hips, jerking him downward, while he shoved his hands under Steve’s knees, spreading them apart as he lifted Steve’s ass from the mattress.

 

“Remember Stevie, it’s okay if you need to pull on my hair. You may need to, cos I wanna see if I can make you come like this.”

 

“What the hell are you gonna do?” Steve asked.

 

“You’ll see.” And then he leaned forward and buried his face in the crack of Steve’s ass, using his tongue to lick and lap at all of his come as it dripped from Steve’s body.

 

“ _Jesus fucking Christ! You really are going to kill me!_ ” Were the last words Steve was able to speak for the next couple of hours.

 

It turned out Bucky was right. Steve did end up needing to hold onto his hair. But he was also right about being able to make Steve come for the second time that night. He did it in less than five minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After everything I put them through, and how long I made them wait, Bucky and Steve would have killed me if I didn't give them a bit of time to themselves. So, here you are. (Besides, if we're really, really quiet, we may be able to snag a few Thin Mints from Bucky's hidden stash. **wink**)
> 
> If you want to join me in a cookie or two, let me know if the comments below. =)


	14. Set Backs

**TRIGGER WARNING**

_**points to tags**_

_Please see the chapter end notes for warnings / spoilers. If even that is too much, know that this is the last time this trigger warning will be used for the rest of the story._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They hit their first stumbling block the next morning.

 

Steve woke to find himself sprawled on his back, Bucky curled around him in a protective embrace. He was sticky and sweaty, his body aching in places it never had before. But if he could, he would have never moved. Because he felt blissful and warm, and utterly relaxed.

 

He pressed a soft kiss to the top of Bucky’s head and began to run his fingers through his hair. It was a riotous combination of sweat, and he was pretty sure semen and lube, as he brushed it back from Bucky’s cheek. He couldn’t stop his smile when Bucky’s nose crinkled, and then his eyes opened to peer up at Steve with their bright, clear blue. Bucky grunted, and then pulled his head away from Steve’s hand before he lowered it again to Steve’s shoulder.

 

“Yeah, you never really were at your best first thing in the morning,” Steve laughed.

 

“Go away,” Bucky mumbled.

 

“Aw come on Sarge,” Steve teased. “Up and at ‘em. I’m hungry.”

 

“Kitchen’s downstairs.”

 

“Or maybe we could go for a run.” Steve had no intentions of going for a run, or any desire to leave their bed really. But it was fun to poke and prod at Bucky, watching him grumble and complain. Bucky had never liked mornings. He would get up if he had to, and when he had first come back, he was always awake before Steve. And he did still have trouble sleeping sometimes. But as more and more time passed, and Bucky relaxed even further into this reclamation of his life, it seemed as if his distaste for mornings had come back with a passion.

 

“Fuck you,” Bucky grunted, rolling onto his side and turning his back to Steve.

 

“Seriously?” Steve continued to press.

 

“Go away.” Bucky grabbed one of the pillows, and threw it back at Steve, aiming for his face. That’s how Steve knew he was still half asleep, because the toss was slow enough that he was easily able to dodge it.

 

“Bucky,” Steve sing-songed. He had done this all the time when they were kids, and it used to drive Bucky up a wall.

 

“Knock it off.”

 

Steve grinned to himself, and remembered something else that used to drive Bucky crazy when they were younger. He stuck his finger in his mouth, getting it wet, and was reaching for Bucky’s ear when…

 

“I swear to god if you give me a wet willie Steve, I’m gonna kick you 'til you’re dead.”

 

“Aw come on,” Steve laughed. “Bucky. Bucky, Bucky, Bucky, Bucky.”

 

“Where the fuck are my guns? I know I stashed at least two of them in here somewhere.” Bucky reached over the side of the bed with a floppy arm.

 

“ _You put your guns in here?_ ”

 

“Uh.” And oh look, he was wide awake now.

 

“How many guns, Buck?”

 

“Uh.”

 

“Seriously Bucky, how many guns have you stashed in here?”

 

“Go back to sleep Stevie,” Bucky whined, burying himself back into his pillow and pulling the sheet over his head.

 

“I swear to god James Buchanan Barnes, I am going to –“

 

“New addendum to the household accords. Steve can’t bitch at Bucky in the mornings, about anything, but especially his guns, until Bucky has had at least three cups of coffee,” Bucky shot out. Followed by, “And one blowjob.” Steve couldn’t have stopped himself from laughing, even if he wanted to.

 

“Well, coffee’s downstairs, whatever’s left of it cos I think we’re about to run out,” Steve said, rolling onto his side and curling around Bucky’s back.

 

“Ugh.”

 

“But the blowjob, that I could definitely help you out with.” But he didn’t move or reach for that part of Bucky’s body. He just wanted to lie there, skin to skin, and enjoy the rest of their morning.

 

Next to him, Bucky was quiet, seeming to be in no mood for anything else either. He merely wrapped his hands around Steve’s, and held them pressed against his chest.

 

“How you doing?” he eventually asked. “You okay after everything we did last night?”

 

“Yeah Buck, I’m great.” Steve pressed a kiss to the back of Bucky’s neck. He felt, more than heard, his sigh of contentment. “What about you?” Bucky made a little humming noise, and relaxed even further into the pillows. Steve tightened his embrace, pulling him in closer. He loved how it felt whenever they lay together like this. The broadness of Bucky’s shoulders against the breadth of his own, how their matched heights allowed for their knees to bend in perfect harmony. The way it brought their hips together, very similar to the way they had wrapped themselves around each other just a few hours before.

 

The feel of it, the press of their skin, had Steve’s mind wondering, thinking over everything they had done and all of the things they had left to explore. Bucky had definitely been the dominant partner so far. He wasn’t aggressive as such, but he had more experience and knowledge than Steve, and as a result he was usually the one who was leading their way. Even when they were coming together at a fever’s pitch, he was always very careful, very concerned, making sure that Steve always got everything he needed, while never pushing him too hard or too fast. And Steve had no problems allowing Bucky to set their pace and choose their course. But a lot of that was because Steve simply didn’t know what to do. So he absorbed and gave himself willingly into Bucky’s hands, while his body and mind processed every new sensation, analyzing and working through it so he could better understand it all.

 

That didn’t mean that he wanted to be passive, or make Bucky feel like he was always the one who needed to lead the way. And Bucky had been, was still being, so generous and giving with each new thing they shared. But there were things that now Steve had experienced them for himself, he wanted to try. Even more importantly, he wanted to give back to Bucky everything he had given to him, as freely and with as much love and care as Bucky had. Bucky deserved it; he deserved everything Steve could give him and more. He just wondered if Bucky would be able to accept that and let him.

 

So he asked.

 

“About last night,” Steve began, running his nose over the back of Bucky’s head and through his hair. Somehow, in spite of everything they had done the night before, it still smelled good.

 

“Hmmm.” There was a smile in Bucky’s voice, Steve could hear it.

 

“Am I ever going to get the chance to do that to you?”

 

Bucky froze. And just like that, all of the sweetness and warmth of their morning after was pulled from the room, leaving them in a void that was cold, and sharp, and empty.

 

Because Bucky didn’t just freeze. His entire body clicked into a rigor of clenched muscles and locked joints. It wasn’t his usual stillness that was all patience and perfect precision, able to wait until the end of time. This was the crystallization of his body, shutting itself away in pure, unadulterated fear.

 

“Hey, hey Bucky, it’s okay. We don’t have to do that. I was just asking,” Steve tried to soothe, realizing it was too late and the Bucky from only moments before had already slipped through his fingers.

 

“ _No, no, no_ ,” Bucky said, unlocking himself to shake his head and pull free from Steve’s embrace. Steve was certain he was going to flee from their bed. But Bucky surprised him. He scrambled away, turning so that his back was wedged into the corner of the wall, and curled up into a tight ball, his skin blanching pale as bone right before Steve’s eyes.

 

“Hey, hey Buck. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. We don’t have to do that ever. I was just wondering, that’s all,” Steve said softly. He didn’t move, not wanting to startle Bucky, regretting that he had even asked if this was the result. He could see it, see the way Bucky was struggling with himself, his own instincts and fears, helpless to do anything but watch as Bucky pulled tighter into himself, a trembling shadow of what he had been less than a minute ago.

 

“It’s not that I don’t want to.” When Bucky finally managed to speak, his teeth were chattering so badly Steve could hear them from where he lay. “And if there was anyone, it would be you, but…b-but…wh-when I was w-with H-HYDRA th-th-they…” And then even worse, his eyes began to flicker back and forth, the tell, the goddamned awful tell, that meant Bucky was being pulled from the present and slipping back into the seemingly never ending labyrinth of horrors HYDRA had put him through.

 

“Buck, Bucky, look at me Bucky, look at me. You’re not there. It’s over and you got away. You’re here with me, Bucky, with Stevie, your Stevie. And you’re safe now Bucky, you’re safe. Look at me Bucky. _Look at me_.” Steve spoke the last bit as an order, a command, a call for attention. He hated doing it, that it was even needed in this space they were building between them where none of that was supposed to matter except for what he and Bucky had created. But he didn’t want to lose Bucky to the slipstream of demons that were rising in his mind, howls from his past that were tormenting him from within.

 

Bucky jerked and stared at Steve, his eyes wide and terrified, but present as they locked onto Steve’s.

 

“They–they…”

 

“I know.”

 

Steve could only whisper it, these words that would not be able to fix a single goddamned thing, could only offer understanding and compassion, hoping they would reach across their bed to this man who was curled up in the corner shivering. That the love in them, that the love that had always been in them, would be at least a balm to Bucky’s soul.

 

Bucky jerked again, as if shot, his gaze never leaving Steve’s face.

 

“You know.” His voice was flat, empty, desolate in the now stark morning air.

 

“Yeah Bucky, I do,” Steve admitted. “I figured it out this last time when you needed to run. It was pretty obvious once I started putting the pieces together.”

 

“You knew,” Bucky whispered, shaking his head before he lowered it in between his knees, his hair falling down to hide his face. “Well then, that’s that I guess.” He barked out a single, dry, harsh laugh. “I mean, I know I should have told you before, but now that you know, I’d totally understand if you didn’t-“

 

“ _James Buchanan Barnes_ ,” Steve growled, letting the anger he felt rising within him surge out into his voice. “That is the stupidest fucking thing I have ever heard you say. Don’t you dare insult me, or yourself like that. _Don’t. You. Dare_.”

 

Bucky flinched, and Steve almost regretted it. He had researched, and he knew, needed to remember that this wasn’t about him. He couldn’t make it about him. But he was livid that Bucky could even think Steve wouldn’t possibly want him because of something that had happened in his past, something that had been done to him when he had not had any choice. Steve forced himself to take a deep breath, and then another, and then another one after that, before he slowly sat up, making sure to make as much noise as possible to not startle Bucky as he moved so that he was kneeling in front of him.

 

“Look at Bucky, please look at me,” he said gently. Bucky shivered again before he finally, slowly, oh so slowly, lifted his head. “It doesn’t matter, it never mattered to me, okay. I swear to you. We’ll work around it, okay? Whatever we do, it only works for me if it works for you and we’ll find our way. I don’t want you thinking that anything that happened to you before makes a damned bit of difference about how I feel about you. I love you Buck. I loved you then and I love you now, and this changes nothing Bucky, _absolutely nothing_. Okay?”

 

“It does,” Bucky whispered. And then he swallowed, a harsh constriction of his throat that Steve could see making its way down his neck. “I’m dirty Steve.”

 

“No Bucky, you’re not. You never were, and you’re not now. I swear to you, you’re not.” Steve raised his hand to reach for Bucky, but stopped himself. “Can I give you a hug? Would that be okay?” Bucky was staring at him, his entire body still shaking, and Steve was certain Bucky was going to refuse. But then he nodded, just once, and Steve was wrapping his arms around him, pulling him in tight, his turn to press Bucky’s face into his neck, where he hoped his scent and pulse would soothe Bucky, the way Bucky’s always soothed him.

 

“What would help? Right now, what do you need to make it better? Tell me and we’ll do it.” Bucky didn’t answer, just remained curled up in his tight, trembling little ball. “Food? A run? Just tell me Bucky, and I’ll make sure you get it.”

 

“A shower,” he finally admitted. “I’m cold.”

 

“Okay,” Steve told him, running his hands up and down Bucky’s back, hoping the touch would help warm him.

 

Despite his words, Bucky didn’t move, and they stayed that way for a long time, an infinity of sorrow and loss, Bucky curled in on himself, shivering, while Steve used his body to shield him from the world. Until finally, a little more than half an hour later, Bucky was able to uncurl himself and pull away, crawling from the bed on shaky legs.

 

“Do you want me to go with you? Maybe wash your hair? Would that help?” Steve offered as Bucky stumbled to the door. He looked so pale and fragile, as delicate as the first snowflakes that melted before they ever touched the ground, and Steve didn’t want to let him out of his sight. Bucky shook his head, but then stopped, and looked over his hunched shoulders at Steve.

 

“No.” Even his voice was weak. “But maybe you could come into the bathroom with me and guard the door. Make sure nobody comes in.”

 

“Yeah Buck,” Steve agreed, rising from the bed. “You go take your shower, and I’ll watch your six.”

 

And that’s exactly what they did.

 

***

 

He was in there for over an hour.

 

For over an hour, Steve sat on top of the toilet lid, behind the locked door, sweat dripping from his forehead and down his back in the steam filled bathroom, while Bucky stood beneath what must have been scalding water and scrubbed at his skin. It was grueling and uncomfortable, and there was absolutely nothing in the world that would have moved Steve from his post.

 

When the water turned off and Bucky finally stepped out of the tub, his skin was red, so red Steve knew if it had been anyone else, there would have been blisters. He wrapped the lower half of his body in a towel and then draped a second one over his shoulders. He took the third one Steve held out, using it to cover his head, before he stopped and stared at his face in the mirror. He turned it back and forth, and Steve could see that he was studying the scruff on his jaw. He tended to prefer to be clean shaven, either due to a remnant of their past, or because he enjoyed the ritual and freedom of self-grooming. It was obvious the coarse stubble was bothering him. But then he looked down at his hands and shook his head, before holding them up for Steve to see. They were shaking.

 

“They both do that now. They didn’t before,” was all he said before he turned and walked out without so much as a glance over his shoulder. Steve followed him anyway, watching as Bucky went into his room and began to dress himself, putting on heavy socks, a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved hoodie. Apparently, he was still cold, in spite of the way he had tried to boil himself and the heat of the day.

 

“Let’s get some food into you,” Steve said from the doorway. He hadn’t gone into Bucky’s room, just kept a respectful distance away, maintaining his promise to guard Bucky’s six. Bucky shrugged, digging through the top drawer of his own bedside table, pulling out a pack of cigarettes.

 

“Need a smoke,” he said as he dashed past Steve on his way to the roof.

 

“'Kay,” Steve called after him. “I’ll bring some stuff up.” Bucky didn’t answer him.

 

Steve was never as glad that it was Thursday as he was that day, when he opened the door and found their weekly food delivery waiting outside. He started to unpack the items, putting them away while he brewed a pot of coffee and boiled some water for tea. He nearly collapsed in gratitude when he found the bag filled with fresh plums. He prepared a tray, carefully balancing it as he made his way up onto the roof, finding Bucky exactly where he said he’d be, sitting in one of the chairs, his knees pulled up, already on his second cigarette. Steve didn’t say anything, just walked over to the table and set the tray down. Bucky stared at it blankly for a few seconds, before he gingerly reached out and picked up one of the plums.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Steve eventually asked, sliding the mug of peppermint tea and honey he had prepared in Bucky’s direction.

 

“No,” Bucky said, rubbing his thumb back and forth, back and forth, over the skin of the plum, as if fascinated by the color of its skin. He sighed, put the plum down, and reached for the tea. “But I guess I should.”

 

“Only if you want.”

 

This was not the way Steve thought their morning would go, and it was not the conversation he thought they were going to have when he kissed the back of Bucky’s neck and asked when it would be his turn to be the one to explore Bucky’s body the way his had been the night before. He had known, once they started having sex, that this was a discussion that needed to happen.

 

He just never thought it would be like this.

 

To hear Bucky talk about it, in a cold, flat voice, his hands shaking as he recounted what had been done to him was one of the most horrific conversations he had ever had. But Bucky had survived it, and the least Steve could do was offer his shoulder, his support and all his attention, as Bucky recalled dehumanizing detail after dehumanizing detail. Of being commanded to strip, unable to disobey, while he was bent over a table, where all he could do was stare at the floor. About the way the table’s edge had dug into his stomach, and the unwanted intrusion and the pain, the searing endless pain, that had been so awful, even the part of him that had been the Asset had shut down and locked itself away. Of how he was sure there had been blood afterwards, and how even that was considered inconsequential since his body could heal any damage done to it as if it had never occurred. Of how the memories first came back to him just as he had started to rediscover his own pleasure, a new grace in Bucky’s life once again ripped from his unwilling fingers by HYDRA. And the worst, probably the worst of it all to Steve, was how Bucky shrugged at the end of his retelling with the words, “But it was only three of them. I had over two dozen handlers while I was with HYDRA. So, you know, it could have been a lot worse.”

 

“Even one was too much Bucky," Steve hissed through gritted teeth. “They had no right to do any of what they did to you, but Jesus fucking Christ, they sure as shit had no right to do that on top of everything else.”

 

Bucky just shrugged again and lit up his sixth cigarette.

 

“So, you know,” he said to the table instead of looking at Steve. “You asked me for something this morning, and I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to give you that. I’d never done that before, and if there was anyone I’d want to do it with, it’d be you. But I don’t think I can.”

 

“Then we don’t.” It was as simple as that. Bucky glanced at him, before he looked away again. “I meant what I said this morning. It’s only good for me if it’s good for you as well. And trust me, I ain’t got no complaints. If one day you change your mind, and you think it’s something you might want to try, let me know and we’ll talk about it. But don’t think you have to. The only thing that would piss me off, more than what HYDRA’s already done, is if you try to force yourself into doing something because you think it’s what I want. That’s not who we are, and I don’t ever want you to feel that way. Got it?” Bucky nodded.

 

“And don’t you dare think this changes a single goddamned thing about how I feel about you. Because it doesn’t. You’re not dirty, and I’m not disgusted or any of the other millions things you’re thinking about yourself in your head right now. I love you Bucky, and that just means this is something we'll deal with, together. And we will, okay?”

 

“This isn’t something you should have to deal with, on top of everything else already. You deserve better.”

 

“Shut up Bucky,” Steve growled. “You don’t get to have a say in what I want or need or think I deserve. Because I’ve already got the best, and that’s you. It’s always been you.”

 

“Thanks Stevie,” Bucky whispered. “And I love you too.” He didn’t smile, but his eyes did crinkle slightly as he reached again for the plum.

 

They spent the rest of the morning sitting on the roof, talking. It was one of the most unusual, but important conversations Steve had ever had with any of his lovers. Steve had researched this once he realized what had happened to Bucky and he knew they needed to have it. So they talked about boundaries and what was acceptable to each of them and what wasn’t. The one thing Steve emphasized above all others was consent, especially Bucky’s, and how it was crucial that he immediately let Steve know if he was somehow doing something that crossed a line Bucky wasn’t comfortable with. It wouldn’t upset him, or make him mad; in fact it was the one thing he could do that absolutely guaranteed that not only Steve, but the both of them, enjoyed each encounter as much as possible.

 

Steve even went so far as to share something he had discovered in his research about those dealing with sexual assault, borrowed from the BDSM lifestyle as a way to help survivors and their partners check in with one another.

 

“Traffic lights?” Bucky asked.

 

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Green means go, everything’s good. Yellow means slow down, check in, maybe shift it a bit until everything feels right again. And red means stop, no questions asked, just stop what you’re doing.”

 

“Huh.”

 

“But red doesn’t mean that I abandon you or leave you alone to deal with whatever you’re going through Buck. It just means we stop what we’re doing and focus on getting you whatever you need to make you feel safe again. And if it’s so bad that you can’t even tell me, just trust that I’m not going to take advantage, and will do everything I can until you can tell me what you need. Would that work for you?”

 

Bucky put out his cigarette, his eighth one, and finally took a sip of his long gone cold tea.

 

“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “That would work.” Then he looked up at Steve. “But not just me, you too.”

 

“Agreed,” Steve said with a smile. “But I gotta say, for me so far it’s just been a whole lotta green.” And for the first time that morning, Bucky smiled back.

 

***

 

It took a few days for Bucky to settle and once again become comfortable in his own skin. It was obvious that the memories and their following conversations had quelled any desire he may have felt. Steve didn’t press, but neither did he alter his reactions to Bucky in any way. He just offered his company and companionship in a way he hoped was both steadying and calming.

 

This time, Bucky surprised him. Instead of pulling away or flinching from Steve whenever he came close, instead it seemed as if Bucky craved nearly constant physical contact. It wasn’t sexual and there were no hidden innuendos behind any of it. It was just that he seemed to want to be held and touched all of the time, as if it were grounding, or he was trying to override the memories in his brain with newer ones, sweeter ones, softer ones. And he was using Steve to help him accomplish that.

 

When they ate together, sometimes in the kitchen and sometimes up on the roof now that summer was in the full thrust of her glory, Bucky always moved his chair closer so that he could press his ankle against Steve’s. He'd been hesitant the first time, his eyes lowered and shadowed, as if he still couldn’t believe Steve was still there, still wanted him by his side, still wanted to be his lover. Steve rolled his eyes and lifted an arm. Bucky refused to let himself be embraced, but when he finally sat, he slid his ankle against Steve’s and just held it there.

 

Whenever they watched a movie on the couch, Bucky would circle a bit, once more hesitant, once more afraid, until without a word, he sat down next to Steve, and pressed himself against his side. Steve slowly raised his arm, and when Bucky nodded, he draped it over Bucky’s shoulder to hear a soft, whispering sigh of relief. When he lightly kissed the top of Bucky’s head, just once, Bucky sighed again and nearly melted against him.

 

And at night, instead of going back to his own room as Steve assumed he would, he crawled into bed and proceeded to pull Steve’s arm around his shoulders, mumbling an apology about needing to be held, so that he would know he was safe. Because he hadn’t been held, touched in a way that wasn’t painful in more than seventy-five years, and he was sorry, "So sorry Stevie, but would it be okay if we just stayed like this for a while."

 

“Don’t be an idiot Buck. You never have to ask, it’s always okay,” had been Steve’s response before he pressed another single kiss to Bucky’s brow and then let him arrange them as he would.

 

One night, Bucky had a nightmare, one that had left him shivering and crying for mercy before he gasped and shuddered awake. Rising, Bucky had apologized for waking Steve and left the room, heading downstairs to curl up under the electric blanket on the Lay-Z-Boy. Steve followed, calling Bucky an idiot, and after getting them both a glass of water, asked Bucky what he could do to help. To his surprise, Bucky requested Steve to curl around him in his favorite chair. They were both big men, so it was a tight fit, but somehow they managed, Steve on his back, with Bucky wrapped around him.

 

When Steve asked him why, once Bucky’s shivers had finally stopped, Bucky said, “You’re warm. I spent almost a century feeling like I was freezing to death, but you’re never cold. You’re like a furnace and it makes me feel safe.”

 

They fell asleep like that. And even if they both woke up sweaty and with cricks in their necks, it was one of the best night's sleep Steve ever had.

 

After that, once Bucky regained his equilibrium, whenever it was a little chilly or the two of them just felt like it, they curled up together in Bucky’s favorite chair. Sometimes they napped, sometimes they kissed, or sometimes they just lay there close together, listening to the sound of each other’s heartbeats.

 

It took a bit, but not too long, only a few days really, before Bucky’s equilibrium returned. Steve still didn’t press or push, telling Bucky he was going to wait for him to make the first move, whenever he felt ready, no pressure, because Steve could wait.

 

Four days later, after they had finally finished varnishing the flight of stairs that led up to the second floor, Steve was in the shower, washing away the day’s sweat and grime. Bucky followed him into the bathroom, stepping in to join him, as naked as the day he was born. He turned Steve around, pulled him into his arms and kissed Steve until he was breathless. They washed each other’s hair, and then Bucky lowered himself to his knees, gifting Steve with his familiar sly little smile, and swallowed him down with a happy, content little purr.

 

So yeah, they were okay again. It had been a challenge, one they would always need to be aware of and respect. But they loved and trusted each other enough to believe that no matter what, as long as they were together, there wasn’t anything they couldn’t face, and not come out even stronger than ever before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings / Spoilers: In this chapter, Steve asks Bucky if can top. The request triggers Bucky and he panics, but he doesn't leave. Instead it ends up with the two of them having a discussion where Bucky recounts what happens to him. It is not graphic, but it is honest, and there are more details than previously. This leads to Steve and Bucky talking about boundaries and consent, with the emphasis being on Bucky's safety, emotional well-being and comfort. The experience sets his recovery back slightly, but it doesn't last long, and the chapter ends on a very positive note. Also, as I said above, this is the last time this trigger warning will be used in the story, and in the next chapter our boys get back to their lives.
> 
> Whether you decide to read this chapter or not, once again, please, please, please do it safely, because the last thing I would ever want to do is hurt anyone unintentionally. I treasure you all, and YOUR well-being is the most important thing. **hugs**
> 
> And for those of you who have read this chapter, thank you so much for trusting me with this part of Bucky's journey. It was difficult to write, but I wanted this aspect of the story to be as honest as possible when it comes to someone trying to recover from trauma. **blankets and endless hugs to you all**


	15. Friends and Family

“So, how’s Bucky doing?” Sam cut in front of Steve, snatching the basketball from his hands and looping toward the hoop at the back of the court.

 

It was two weeks later, and Steve had finally decided to return to the Avengers Tower to see his teammates. Steve had been checking in, but it had been via emails and Skype sessions, making sure everything was going well and his presence nor skills were needed. It was possible he may have been distracted during those calls, (and it was hard not to be distracted when every time he sat in front of his laptop Bucky hadn’t tried his best to pull Steve’s attention away, especially the one time he had strolled into the room as naked as a jaybird, carrying a box of those damned Thin Mint cookies), but he had made sure to let his teammates know he was there if they needed him. But it had been quiet since February. It wasn’t unusual; things tended to calm down for a few months after every incident, while the criminal element held still and watched, waiting to see how the governments of the world would react before they decided on their next move. That would change, it always changed, but Steve had never been as grateful for the respite as he was now. It meant that he could focus on his own life, and this new blessing, making sure to provide it with all the care, attention and nurturing he could. Bucky deserved it, he deserved it, they both did. Steve was not going to regret a damned thing about the past two weeks, not when he had been waiting for this for as long as he could remember.

 

Still, it had been a good decision to come see everyone. They were all there, except for Natasha, away on another assignment, and Thor, whose visits were always sporadic at best. It’d been nice, reconnecting with his friends and catching up, even if he did miss Bucky, his skin, his heart, his very soul aching for its other half in a low steady thrum. It was probably wise they were spending some time apart, but it wasn’t easy. They still had to define the parameters of who they were to each other, how this new dynamic would change the way they dealt with the outside world. And he loved his friends, he really did. But they weren’t Bucky, they had never been Bucky, and Bucky well…Bucky was Steve’s everything in a way he thought very few people would ever be able to understand.

 

But he was here now, and after lunch, Steve decided to take Sam and Clint up on their offer of a game of basketball before he headed back home.

 

“He’s good.” Steve paused in his steps to watch as Sam took his shot and missed, Clint cutting in to snatch the ball from the air on its rebound.

 

“And the house? How’s that coming along?” Clint asked as he dribbled the ball to the other side of the court.

 

“It’s coming.” Steve dashed after Clint, but his heart wasn’t in it, not really. “We’re about two-thirds done. We just have to finish the first floor and figure out what we want to do with the lot in the back.” Steve swiped the ball from Clint’s hands, but Sam was right there, and he stole it easily.

 

“And how you doing man? Everything good?” Sam shot the ball from where he stood, and this time it hit its mark, nothing but net.

 

“Me? I’m great.” Steve could feel the smile on his face, probably couldn’t have stopped it from blooming even if he wanted to. Which he didn’t.

 

“Uh-huh.” Sam caught the ball and then turned to stare at Steve, an arch to his eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

 

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” Steve returned Sam’s gaze, his hands on his hips.

 

“'Cos you seem kinda distracted.” Clint cut in front of Steve to catch the ball as Sam tossed it to him.

 

“Well I’m not.” Steve turned to follow Clint across the court.

 

“You sure about that Cap?” Sam asked again. And they must have been right. Because just as Steve was about to attempt to steal the ball from Clint’s grasp, Clint ducked, turned under Steve’s outstretched arm, tossed the ball to Sam, and snagged the collar of Steve’s t-shirt, pulling it down from his neck.

 

“Ha!” Clint crowed victoriously, tapping the vibrant purple and red mark Bucky had left on his collar bone that morning, with a murmured _‘Just a little something for you to remember me by’_ before Steve left the house. As if Steve would, could, ever forget. “Thought so!”

 

“Uh-huh.” It was Sam’s turn now as he joined Clint in his study of Steve’s bruise. He glanced at Clint. “Apparently Bucky’s a biter.”

 

In spite of the flush Steve could feel rising on his cheeks, he decided to pull a page out of Bucky’s book, and pulled a little bit of his slyness and unabashed cockiness around him instead.

 

“You have no idea,” he said in a purr that he knew would have made Bucky proud. And they didn’t. Because the mark on his neck wasn’t the only one on Steve’s body. There was the one on the back of his shoulder, the hand shaped bruises on his hips, and an additional bite on his left buttock, that Bucky had given him while muttering something about payback for the scar on his own ass. And that did not include the relaxing and hungry ache deep in his own body that had Steve’s hips rolling with a new and easy looseness they’d never had before. And Jesus Christ, he needed to get home, and get home _now_.

 

“Ha!” Clint cackled again. He stopped, coming to stand next to Sam, both of their faces bearing the marks of happiness and concern.

 

“And it’s good? You’re good? The both of you?” Sam asked quietly.

 

“Yeah Sam, it’s not just good. It’s great,” Steve answered just as softly.

 

“About damned time, man.” Sam stepped forward and pulled Steve into his arms, clasping him against his shoulders in a tight embrace. He even went so far as to press a small kiss, quick and light, to Steve’s temple. “I’m so happy for you.”

 

“We both are.” Clint slapped the back of his shoulder companionably, thankfully not the one Bucky had bitten. 

 

“Yeah,” Steve sighed out. “Me too.”

 

“Long time coming, this.” Sam started dribbling the ball, turning away to keep it out of Clint’s grasp.

 

“Yeah well,” Clint began as he ran after Sam. “You still owe me fifty bucks.”

 

“What?” Steve asked, watching the two of them chase each other around the court.

 

“Nah, man. I told you it was going to happen once Bucky came back this time around,” Sam countered.

 

“You gave it six months,” Clint retorted. “I was the one who said if we didn’t see Steve for over a week it was because Cap was finally getting laid.”

 

“Actually, it was Nat who said that.”

 

“No, she bet it would happen in the summer. Said the warmer temperatures always bring out the friskiness in Russians. And it’s not technically summer yet,” Clint admitted as he stole the ball from Sam and made his way back down the court towards Steve.

 

“What?” Steve asked again.

 

“Didn’t Bruce put money down on Cap’s birthday?” Sam started chasing after Clint.

 

“What?”

 

“If we’re going by dates, I think JARVIS calculated sometime in the beginning of June.” Clint jumped up as he tossed the ball, missing the shot.

 

 _Actually gentlemen,_ JARVIS’s voice broke over the gym’s speakers. _Based on my previous experiences with both Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes, I calculated that they would consummate their relationship within one hundred and fifteen days of their reunion. So technically, the winnings are mine._

 

“Huh.” Clint stopped and tilted his head to the side, obviously working through JARVIS’ math. “That sounds about right. How much is in the pot now?”

 

 _At last count, which includes Miss Pott’s contribution, the total stands at nine hundred and forty-eight dollars,_ JARVIS supplied.

 

“ _What?_ ”

 

Deciding Bucky was right and his friends really were a bunch of useless idiots, Steve stopped holding back, and wiped the floor with Clint and Sam, so that they were both leaning against one another and gasping for breath when Steve finally walked away.

 

But at least JARVIS agreed to split half of the pot with Steve.

 

***

 

“What the hell took you so goddamned long Stevie?” Bucky panted into Steve’s mouth, throwing him against the door as soon as Steve got home less than an hour later.

 

“My friends are a bunch of fucking assholes, that’s what,” Steve panted back, reaching up to grab Bucky by the hair so he could pull him in and crash their lips together.

 

“Coulda told you that.” Bucky’s hands had already reached down to undo Steve’s belt and zipper.

 

“You were right,” Steve gasped against Bucky’s neck, inhaling deeply so that he could absorb the scent of Bucky’s skin. There was the overlay of Puerto Rican food, so he knew Bucky hadn’t spent all his time inside waiting for Steve’s return, and that strange new sweet scent of baby powder that had started clinging to him. But underneath all of that, as Steve buried his nose behind Bucky’s ear and into his hair, _cinnamon and clove_ , the essence of Bucky, and Steve’s favorite scent in the world. “But they can go fuck themselves for another two weeks as far as I’m concerned.”

 

“Gonna fuck you right now,” Bucky groaned, pulling back slightly and lowering himself to his knees, dragging Steve’s pants down his hips as he went. It was his turn to inhale as he buried his face in Steve’s groin with a contented sigh. This was one of their favorite things to do, Bucky kneeling between Steve’s legs, Steve helpless to do anything but try to keep on his feet while Bucky devoured him.

 

“ _Oh god, oh god, okay, okay,_ ” Steve exhaled, looking down at Bucky as he knelt on the floor, his hair a crowning cascade of all the colors of the earth. “But then I’m gonna take you to dinner, steak, their treat.” Bucky hummed in agreement, then stopped and looked up at Steve. He reached for Steve’s hand, placing it to the back of his head, Steve’s fingers automatically clenching into his hair.

 

“I’m not going to move, I’m going to stay just like this,” he whispered before he slowly licked his lips, leaving them wet and pink. “But I want you to feed me your dick. Don’t push me down, cos you know I hate that. Just give it to me nice and slow. I wanna see how much of you I can take, _just. Like. This._ Can you do that Stevie?” Steve swallowed around a throat that was tight and dry, and somehow managed to nod. Bucky smiled. “Good. And just so you know, it’s green Stevie, so fucking green right now. So have at. I’ve been waiting all fucking day for you to get back. Now go.”

 

And oh god, it really was good to be home.

 

***

 

“Well, well, well, well, well,” Dewy purred that very first day he and Steve had decided to return to the land of the living. Steve needed to check in with his teammates, and Bucky, well, there was only one place he was ever going to go. But Dewy was already holding Nina out to him, and she came into his arms easily, happily cooing as soon as she saw his face.

 

“Hey Dewy.” Bucky leaned in to give her cheek a kiss, after he placed a gentle one to Nina’s.

 

“Hey Bucky.” She was smiling at him, her eyes alight with mischievous glee. And Bucky knew she already knew, and he wouldn’t have to say a word. She winked and then stepped away, turning to lead him up the stairs towards Lulu’s apartment. “Mami, our stray cat has finally come back. I think you need to feed him!”

 

Lulu was waiting for him, Joey just a step behind her, at the top of the stairs.

 

“Well, welcome back mijo.” But she too was smiling as she said it, as was Joey. “Have a good couple of weeks?”

 

“Yeah.” Bucky felt shy, but not ashamed. He would never feel ashamed by this. What he and Steve had, had always had, but even more so now than ever before, was precious and sacred. He would defend it with his dying breath before he ever let anyone or anything turn it into something less. “Sorry I was away for so long.” Just like Steve had with his teammates, Bucky had been checking in via text and quick phone calls. He felt a bit guilty over it, but he had been waiting for this for so long, and he knew that after everything he had shared with his family, and all of their support and encouragement, they would be nothing but happy for him.

 

“Don’t worry about it Bucky,” Lulu said, taking her turn to lean in and kiss his cheek. She lifted her hand as she stepped back. Bucky thought she was going to cup his cheek, as she so often did, but instead she reached for the collar of his shirt, pulling it down to reveal the love bite on his throat, a perfect match to the one he had left on Steve’s. She smiled once she saw it, and then lifted her hand to his face. “It’s good?” Her voice was soft, quiet, but filled with so much love and concern, and Bucky wanted to melt against her, find some way to share the golden light he now felt from within, light that she had helped to foster and grow.

 

“Yeah,” he said instead. “It’s really, really good.”

 

“And he loves you too?”

 

“Si Mami, he does,” Bucky whispered. Because Steve’s love for him, yearned and hungered for so long was his church, the only place he ever felt fully filled with grace and hope. It deserved all of the reverence and care he could give it.

 

“Good.” Lulu smiled and gave him another hug. “Now come on, let’s go sit in my kitchen and I’ll make you something to eat, and you can tell us all about it. Then you can tell me what his favorite food is, and we’ll pick a day so you can bring him around so we can finally meet him.”

 

“What?”

 

“You have to bring him around Bucky, you have to,” Joey said, coming to his side to take his hand and lead him into her grandmother’s apartment. “We have to see if he’s good enough for you. Because if he’s like that asshole Trevor, I don’t care how hot you think he is, you’re going to have to kick him to the curb.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Oh god, I hated Trevor,” Dewy said from behind him. “He was such an asshole. I was totally rooting for Shane instead.”

 

“What?”

 

“They’re talking about Dickalicious Ranch,” Lulu said from her kitchen. “And they’re both wrong. Peter should have picked Oscar instead. At least he has a job.”

 

“Oscar’s boring,” Joey complained. “But here, give me your phone, I’ll send it to you.”

 

“Still waters run deep mija,” Lulu told her granddaughter. “And Oscar, I think he has very deep waters, just like our Bucky here.”

 

“Never mind the deep waters. Can he deep throat, that’s what I want to know,” Dewy chimed in.

 

“Blech. Why would you want some guy’s dick down the back of your throat, that’s what _I_ want to know. This is why I’m a lesbian,” Joey complained.

 

“Then why do you keep reading them?” Dewy asked.

 

“Because they’re interesting. I liked the one about Robin Hood. They don’t talk about _that_ in the history books.” Joey went over to the refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of Malta, handing one to Bucky.

 

“There’s a reason they’re called his Merry Men,” Lulu added from where she stood at the stove, stirring something in a steaming pot for just a moment, before she turned around and faced Bucky, who was already sitting at the table where he could do nothing but blink at the three of them. “Now never mind that. We have to pick a day for Bucky to bring his Stevie here and introduce him to us. How about tomorrow?”

 

“No good. I have my bowling league tomorrow,” Dewy disagreed.

 

“Thursday?” Lulu suggested.

 

“No, I have my school trip on Thursday and Bucky promised he was going to pick me up when it was over. Don’t forget you have to come over and do my hair. Megan’s going to be there, and I don’t want to look stupid. She has freckles Bucky, you know how important those are,” Joey said.

 

“Friday then?” Lulu tried again.

 

“Works for me,” Dewy agreed.

 

“Me too,” Joey chimed in.

 

“So, Friday it is then.” Lulu finalized, with a satisfied nod.

 

Bucky sat at the kitchen table, Nina’s cooing in his arms, staring wide eyed at these three women who had suddenly come in and decided to take over his life. He’d fought Nazis, HYDRA, Steve’s stubbornness and his own brainwashing. Yet still, none of that had been as confusing as the conversation he had just been witness to. He blinked at them once, then twice, and then again, even the part of him that had once been the Asset stunned into silence, before he was finally able to speak.

 

_“What?”_

 

***

 

In the end, it took a month.

 

Bucky kept hedging and hawing, making excuses, coming up with reasons why he couldn’t bring Steve there. At first, they were all true. He had waited so long for this, to be able to lay with Stevie and hold him in his arms as he had always held him in his heart, and he wasn’t ready to share it, let go of that, not just yet. It was everything he had ever wanted, yet beyond anything he had ever expected, could have ever hoped for, and he found himself being greedy and selfish.

 

And these women, with their home above the small restaurant he had been so lucky to stumble into that day more than a year and a half ago, was also his, and he needed them, almost as much as he needed Steve. And he knew, _he knew_ , that as soon as they all met, everything was going to change. So once again he was greedy and selfish, because _oh god, please god, just let me hold the baby one more time._

 

So he kept his secret from Steve, one of only two left really. He deflected and made excuses to his family, as they continued to press and urge and insist, wanting to meet this person, this man who they all knew had always played such a central role in Bucky’s life, not hiding their disappointment each time he refused.

 

Until finally, a month later, it was Lulu, always Lulu, the woman who had been the catalyst for it all, who cornered him, sitting him down at her kitchen table with a piece of flan and a cup of peppermint tea.

 

“Bucky,” she said, with the sternness all mothers somehow seemed to possess when dealing with wayward children in her voice as she looked at him.

 

“I know,” he mumbled under his breath, turning away from her, unable for the first time in so long to meet her steady brown gaze.

 

“No, I don’t think you do.” Her voice was soft but so was her hand as she carefully laid it over his to give him a gentle squeeze. “We love you. And from everything you’ve told me, he loves you as well. That’s not going to change because we finally get to meet each other.”

 

“I know,” he said again, squeezing her hand back.

 

“No, I don’t think you do,” she repeated. “But we’ve all come this far together Bucky. And just like there are no limits to love, there are no limits to family. Bring him, and let him see how much you love us, and let us see how much you love him. You’re a good man, with a good heart. Let go of your fear. It will be okay, I promise you. It’s time.”

 

Bucky turned his face to her kitchen window and closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the sunlight on his cheeks, just like he could feel the warmth of her love at his side. The sun was generous with its light that day, just as Steve had always been generous with his light. Just like Lulu was. And maybe, just maybe, instead of always being a moon, Bucky could find some light of his own from within, to share with these people who had been so generous with theirs to him.

 

“Okay,” he said with a small nod before he opened his eyes to look at her. “Okay.” She squeezed his hand one last time, before she rose from where she had been sitting and kissed his forehead.

 

She was right. It was time.

 

So two weeks after Steve’s birthday, Bucky did something he had done once, but not again in nearly one hundred years, and brought Steve to meet his family.

 

***

 

With a final, gasping, shivering breath, Steve sighed, collapsed forward, and closing his eyes, pressed his forehead to Bucky’s. Breaths gasped against each other’s neck, kisses stolen from sweat sheened skin, they held onto each other as Bucky leaned back against the couch, with Steve still crouched on his lap. He had been riding Bucky, and riding him hard and fast for the past twenty minutes, but the eager embrace of Bucky’s arms when he’d gotten home had been both a relief and an inspiration that would not be denied.

 

Coming home each and every day was now a blessing Steve looked forward to. That had always been the case, once Bucky asked him to move in, but it was even better now, where instead of just smiles, questions about his day, and an abundance of concern and food waiting for him, there were warm kisses, sweaty nights, and more orgasms in a week than he had ever had in his life. So many changes, so many surprises, but as of yet, all of them wonderful.

 

Steve was so damned grateful.

 

Even his birthday two weeks ago had been the best he could ever remember having. He had stopped by the Tower briefly, at his teammates’ insistence, a bit surprised at Bucky’s willingness to let him leave. He only stayed for an hour and a half, to share a brief lunch, accept a few thoughtful gifts and congratulations before he returned to Brooklyn. When he got back to the row house, it was to find a new drafting table, fully stocked and supplied, set up in his studio, and a dinner of pastelon and tostones waiting for him. It didn’t taste exactly the same as it had before, not quite as savory, but still good none-the-less. Once he found out that was because Bucky hadn’t gone out for it, but prepared it himself instead, it was one of the best meals of Steve’s life. After some coffee and a cake from Veniero's, a pastry shop in the East Village that had been around during the first phase of their lives, but they had never been able to afford back in the day, Bucky led Steve up to the roof, where he had decorated the table, chairs and stairwell with fairy lights, while from Bucky’s phone songs from the forties had played. Steve spent the rest of the night in Bucky’s arms, dancing to _Be Careful It’s My Heart, Only Forever, Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered_ , and _I Don’t Want to Walk Without You_. They only stopped once the fireworks had started, sitting at their little glass table, finishing the rest of Steve’s birthday cake while sharing a final cup of coffee.

 

While he may have been born over a century ago, Steve’s body and soul were barely past thirty years old. If moments, days, embraces like this were what he had to look forward to, then he would be grateful for everything that had come before. Because it had led him to this, to this life where everything was smoother, sweeter, brighter than it had ever been, and not due to the after effects of some serum he willingly allowed himself to be injected with.

 

And the one reason, the only reason why any of it, all of it, was suddenly so worth it was beneath him on their couch, pressing soft kisses to Steve’s neck, while he ran steady but gentle hands up and down the length of Steve’s spine.

 

“Good?” Bucky asked, with a little nibble to Steve’s ear before he used his tongue to lap away the bead of sweat gathered at Steve’s temple.

 

“Yeah Buck,” Steve exhaled. “It’s good. It’s always good. You should know that by now.”

 

“A man still likes to know when he’s done a good job,” Bucky teased, before he pressed three quick kisses to Steve’s lips.

 

“Asshole,” Steve muttered, before he shifted and leaned sideways so that Bucky’s slowly softening dick slipped from Steve’s body and they tumbled sideways onto the couch, Bucky on his back, Steve pressing down against him.

 

“Dumbass,” Bucky chuckled and then fell quiet. They lay there like that, enjoying each other in the silence while they caught their breath. Until Steve began to feel the mess of their joining slowly start to drip out from in between his legs.

 

“Thank god for Stain Guard,” he muttered against Bucky’ shoulder. Bucky snorted.

 

“You’re telling me.” Yet neither of them moved, content in their connection, until Steve’s stomach started to gurgle and growl.

 

“Somebody’s hungry,” Bucky snickered, but then his stomach did the exact same thing, causing Steve to laugh.

 

“Hey Buck.” Steve pressed a kiss to Bucky’s throat.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“When are you going to finally take me to Casita Pepe?” he dared to ask. Beneath him Bucky stilled. It wasn’t the stillness he could wrap around himself when he was studying, observing, waiting for his next target. Nor was it the brittle freeze his body had locked itself into when they found themselves face to face with one of the worst horrors from his past. This was different; it was more of a hesitancy or an indecision, that now, but especially lately after his final return to Sunset Park, he seldom ever displayed. Steve pulled back to find Bucky staring up at him, a strange cast in his eyes as he met Steve’s gaze. He continued to stare at Steve, the blue in his eyes not its usual swirl, but simultaneously subdued yet steady, until he seemed to finally come to a decision.

 

“Do you really want to go?” he eventually asked, reaching up to push a stray lock of hair behind Steve’s ear.

 

“Bucky, I’ve been trying to get you to take me there for months! Of course I want to go,” Steve laughed. But he kept his attention focused on Bucky. They were usually so good at reading each other, even more so now, but there was something different in Bucky as Steve studied him, something unrecognizable, and Steve did not know what to make of it.

 

Bucky continued to stare at him, his eyes studying, searching, assessing, before he sighed and then nodded.

 

“Yeah, all right. I’ll take you there,” he finally said with a small smile.

 

“Seriously?” Steve could not believe what he was hearing. Casita Pepe was an ongoing joke between them, with Steve always asking to go and Bucky always refusing, so much so that it had developed a mythos of its own in Steve’s mind. He’d hoped, but he had never actually thought Bucky would ever agree to bring him there, this place that served all of his favorite foods. But Steve had once again asked, and this time, Bucky conceded. Steve almost doubted what he’d heard.

 

“Yeah Stevie, seriously,” Bucky said softly, running his hand through Steve’s hair once more before he finally lowered it to his chest. “It’s time.”

 

Steve nearly stumbled to the floor he scrambled off Bucky so fast. Bucky didn’t laugh like he normally would have. Instead he continued to stare at Steve with that cast to his expression, before he smiled to himself and shook his head.

 

“Take a shower though,” he said as he slowly rose to his feet. “You don’t need to be smelling like my spunk when I finally introduce you to Senora Rodriguez.” He paused and squinted at Steve. “And wear something nice.”

 

“A suit?” Steve asked. There were an abundance of eateries in their neighborhood, but nothing that was all that elegant, at least not in the immediate vicinity.

 

“No, nothing fancy,” Bucky said with a shake of his head. “But nice.”

 

“Yeah, all right. Gimme ten?” Steve asked. Bucky nodded and then waved him away, bending over to pick up their clothes from the floor. As Steve quickly made his way up the stairs and into the shower, it occurred to him that Senora Rodriguez and Casita Pepe were both probably a lot more important to Bucky than he had previously let on. He had framed any and all previous references as a joke, but there had been something so serious in both his countenance and his voice as he finally acquiesced to Steve’s request for an invitation.

 

He was still pondering over it as he made his way back downstairs to find Bucky in the kitchen, talking on his cell. Bucky had changed his clothes as well, putting on a slim fitting pair of black jeans, and a burgundy long sleeved t-shirt. His hair was wet, making it obvious that he had used one of the other bathrooms to take a shower, and he was fiddling with the charm Steve noticed he had taken to wearing, while he spoke to whoever was on the other end of the call.

 

“Si, si,” Steve heard Bucky say. “Diez minutos, mas or menos…Si…Si…Claro…Y tu tambien. Adios.” Bucky disconnected the call and turned to face Steve. He ran his eyes over him, taking in Steve’s choice of grey trousers and his own fitted blue t-shirt and nodded. “You’ll do. Now come on, they’re waiting for us.”

 

“They?” Steve asked, as he followed Bucky out the door. Bucky just nodded again, doing his usual quick scan of the street (and no matter what had happened or how much time passed, some things still remained the same, and Bucky always needed to scan the streets before he felt secure enough to leave the house), before he turned and locked the door.

 

“They,” was all he said, before he made his way down the steps and turned right toward Third Avenue.

 

He was quiet as he walked, until he made another right on Fourth Avenue, which he followed for two more blocks, until he crossed and turned down Fifty-fourth Street. For a second, Steve wondered if they were heading to his old apartment, which he still hadn’t sublet, before he realized this block was very familiar to him. It was the one, in fact it was the only one, Bucky consistently turned down whenever he took the lead on one of their runs. Steve hadn’t ever really noticed before, but as they continued on their way, Bucky still quiet beside him, he wished he had paid more attention. Whatever this place was, it was obviously important to Bucky, which became even more apparent as they stopped in front of a brown colored row house close to the corner, with a small, sub-level restaurant from which hung a bright yellow awning that proudly displayed the words _Casita Pepe_ in red script.

 

Bucky stared at it for a second, his eyes scanning every detail, before he turned to Steve with another one of those strange smiles, and sighed.

 

“I know we’ve joked about this place before,” he began, his hands shoved deep into his jean pockets. “But whatever you may think, you need to know that these are some really great people Stevie. The best. No matter what you think of me after we go in there, just remember that, okay?”

 

“Yeah Buck, of course,” Steve agreed, more curious now than he had ever been. Bucky studied him for a moment longer, before he nodded, and shaking himself out of whatever strange mood had overcome him, removed his hands from his pockets, made his way toward the entrance, where he opened the door and motioned for Steve to go inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FOOD PORN TIME - In case anyone was curious, Veniero's is an actual pastry shop that has been around for over 120 years in Manhattan (even older than Steve and Bucky.) They serve different types of coffee and have some of the most amazing Italian pastries in the world. And the strawberry shortcake...OH MY GOD, the strawberry shortcake! **drools**
> 
> https://venierospastry.com/
> 
> And lastly, my beta, the ever amazing merry_rf recently posted a new story. It's wonderful and charming, and if you need something sweet and light-hearted to read, I can't recommend it enough. 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/16892682
> 
> And yes, next chapter Steve finally gets to meet the Rodriguezes. Feel sorry for Steve. So, so sorry. **wink**


	16. Introductions

Whatever Steve had been expecting when he imagined Casita Pepe, it was not what he found as he stepped inside. It wasn’t that it was so different from any of the other small eating establishments clustered in their neighborhood; the front area was small and brightly lit, an immaculately clean space with a series of glass cases all displaying the food on offer, surprisingly crowded for the end of the dinner hour on a Monday evening. After calling a quick but bright greeting to the young Latina woman behind the counter, who returned his hello just as easily, Bucky bypassed the crowd and made his way towards the back, where there was more seating, small, but also crowded, eating different foods than what Steve had seen in the front. Several of the patrons acknowledged Bucky as he walked past, to which Bucky responded with the same ease and familiarity as he had the woman in the front. But to Steve’s surprise, Bucky didn’t stop, making his way even further toward the back, calling out yet another greeting to the women behind a second counter, apparently the cooks, who each turned to wave at him, before they saw Steve and stopped, their eyes wide. Bucky said something to them in Spanish, which may have been an apology or a tease, but Steve couldn’t tell, because his voice was drowned out by the sound of a baby’s crying, which was quickly making its way towards them. Bucky turned toward the sound, and then as if this was normal, as if he did this all the time, after casting a quick glance at Steve to make sure he was following, he stepped behind the counter separating the kitchen from the rest of the restaurant, through a curtained doorway, and into a small room, hidden from view, with clean, white walls and another table, larger but more well-worn than anything outside.

 

Steve was just about to ask Bucky what was going on when he suddenly heard the sharp _click-click-click_ of heels approaching. And then a short, full figured, beautiful woman, in a yellow dress and matching strappy sandals made her way through a door on the opposite side of the room, a crying baby in her arms, which she held out to Bucky as she approached.

 

“Oh thank god, Bucky,” she said, “I know you just got here and you finally brought your Stevie  for us to meet, but she’s been crying for over an hour and I can’t get her to stop. She needs her tio to hold her.” Steve watched in utter amazement as Bucky reached out and quickly, but very gently, took the baby into his arms with an easy familiarity, murmuring to her softly.

 

“Okay, okay nena, calmate hija, your tio’s here, I’ve got you, everything’s okay. Calm down Nina, calm down,” Bucky crooned to the infant. And then, even more shocking, as Steve stood there, unable to believe what he was seeing, he heard something he never would have expected; the sound of the plates in Bucky’s left arm coming to life. They didn’t shift or tighten. Instead it was a low thrum, a quiet vibration Steve had only heard a single time, when he clasped Bucky’s arm on the day he agreed to come live in the row house. Even more unbelievable, as Steve stared, Bucky shifted the baby slightly, moving her so that the entirety of her tiny, little body was cradled in his left arm, while he carefully held her head, guiding it with a never seen before gentleness against the join in his shoulder where those plates and Bucky’s flesh were fused.

 

And then, and then, if that weren’t enough, just as Steve was seriously beginning to wonder if he had somehow stepped into an alternate dimension when he had walked through the front door, within a few seconds, the baby stopped crying. Her wails turned into soft, little breathless gasps, that transformed into quiet, tiny gurgles, as she stared up at Bucky and began to coo as she shoved her plump fist into her mouth.

 

“There we go, there we go,” Bucky continued in the same tone he used before, smiling down at the bundle he so preciously held, lifting her to place a quick kiss to her forehead. “That’s better huh?”

 

“Oh thank god,” the woman, who had watched the entire exchange, sighed. “I swear to god Bucky, I don’t care how much hot monkey sex you’re having right now, you need to be here every night so that at least one of us can get a full night’s sleep. And if I’m not the one getting fucked on a regular basis, then I should at least be the one who gets some sleep.”

 

“It’s all your fault, you know,” Bucky laughed, _laughed_ as if this was a normal conversation between the two of them, as he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to the woman’s cheek. “You were the one who told me to cover his dick in honey and then hump his leg. I was just taking your advice.”

 

“Yes well, I didn’t think you’d be so good at it,” she smiled back at him. “Speaking of which.” She turned as if suddenly remembering there was someone else there, her hand already held out. Upon seeing Steve, she froze, her crimson painted lips going slack and her eyes wide.

 

“B-Bucky?” she stuttered after a long pause, glancing over her shoulder at Bucky.

 

“Yeah Dewy,” Bucky said with a small, sad smile, a strange undertone of acceptance in his voice. “That’s Stevie.” Dewy looked back at Steve, her mouth still open, her eyes travelling over every inch of his body. It lasted for just over a minute, before Dewy turned a wide and bright grin in Bucky’s direction, accompanied by a deep and throaty chuckle.

 

“How much trouble am I in?” Bucky asked her with a squint.

 

“Oh, you are in so much trouble,” she continued to laugh, stepping forward to lay another kiss to Bucky’s cheek. “But I can’t wait, because it’s going to be _great.”_

 

Before Bucky could respond, there came the sound of a throat sharply clearing itself from behind Steve’s shoulder. Dewy continued to laugh, but Bucky immediately straightened, his posture similar to a parade’s rest. Yet the expression on his face was wide, hopeful and imploring, as he stared at whoever it was who had just entered the room.

 

Steve turned to see an older woman standing in the doorway, with intelligent, nearly black eyes and a serious expression on her face. She was also short and full-figured, wearing a plum colored top over a pair of dark blue jeans, but beautiful too, despite her age, or maybe because of it. Or maybe, just maybe, it was due to the way she was staring at Bucky, something ageless and mothering in her expression, once she turned her eyes from Steve to look at Bucky.

 

“Oh Mami,” Dewy sang as she made her way over to the woman who was obviously her mother. “Look who’s here. It’s Bucky, and he finally brought his _Stevie_ for us to meet.” The woman took another look at Steve, slower this time, obviously studying him, before she turned back to Bucky.

 

“De vera Bucky?” she asked.

 

“Si,” Bucky said with a small nod and a slight shrug of his shoulders. The woman cast another glance at Steve, before she seemed to come to an internal decision, exhaled and walked around Steve to make her way towards Bucky.

 

“El habla Espanol?” she queried, running a gentle hand over the downy hair of the baby still cradled in Bucky’s arms.

 

“No,” Bucky said with a shake of his head. The woman sighed and then nodded as if this was the expected answer. But she was ignoring Steve, and even her own daughter for a moment while she stared into Bucky’s eyes, searching for something.

 

“Stupid boy,” she finally said. “Did you think this would change anything?” Bucky shrugged again, but it was obvious from the tightness in his shoulders and around his eyes that he thought it would. “Ay mijo, we still have some work to do, don’t we? Now come on and give me a kiss and then you can introduce me to your Stevie properly.” The woman reached up to wrap her arms around him, and Steve watched as it was Bucky’s turn to sigh, in what was relief this time, as he closed his eyes and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. She held him a little longer, before she released him from her embrace, straightened and turned back around to face Steve.

 

“So, Bucky, aren’t you going to introduce us?” she asked.

 

“Where’s Joey?” he asked, glancing toward what was obviously a back stairwell instead of making the introductions.

 

“She’s still in her room, probably trying on her fifth shirt,” the older woman said.

 

“What? Why?”

 

“She’s a young girl Bucky, that’s why. She can’t make up her mind if she’s excited or nervous and she wants to make the right impression.” It was Dewy who answered.

 

“Pfft,” Bucky dismissed. “It’s just Stevie.”

 

“Uh-huh,” the woman said, glancing at Bucky out of the corner of her eye. “Enough stalling Bucky, and introduce us.” Bucky sighed and nodded, and then stepped forward so that he was in the middle of the small room.

 

“Everyone, this is Steven Grant Rogers, my Stevie,” he began. Then he looked at Steve with that same, tiny smile he’d had all evening and shrugged, just once. “And Steve, this is Dorcas Rodriguez, Dewy. And this…this is Senora Lourdes Rodriguez. The owner of Casita Pepe and…” He paused and looked at the older woman with so much love and gratefulness that Steve’s heart clenched in his chest. The woman matched his gaze, the same look in her own eyes, before she smiled and gave him a tiny nod. “My mother.”

 

If Steve had been shocked by all that had passed so far, it was nothing compared to the way everything within him froze to hear those last two words pass through Bucky’s lip. And he knew that it was now his turn to stand there with his mouth open, blinking at this strange tableau that included Bucky, these two women, and the tiny infant still cradled in Bucky’s arms.

 

“Uh…” he stammered when he was finally able to speak. “Excuse me, but… _what?_ ”

 

Steve never got a response, because as soon as he spoke the words, there came a thunderous _stomp-stomp-stomp_ from behind him as a young girl raced into the room, rushing to Bucky’s side.  She skidded to a stop, and then quickly turned, straightening her shirt as she did, until her eyes came to rest on Steve. Whatever smile she had been wearing quickly disappeared, only to be replaced by a harsh frown as she too took in all of Steve’s details before she turned to Bucky and snarled, “ _Are you fucking kidding me?_ ”

 

***

 

It was a bit of a controlled chaos after that. It quickly became obvious to Steve that he wasn’t the only one Bucky had been keeping secrets from. As Steve was eventually ushered to sit at the table, his mind still too shocked to form any coherent words, in need of some form of distraction from his own surprise, he instead took in the reactions of everyone else. The only one who seemed completely unaffected was the baby, happily oblivious to the drama going on around her from her cocoon in Bucky’s arms, cooing at him as she continuously batted at Bucky’s cheek with her drool covered fist.

 

Senora Rodriguez was kind and gracious, but approached Steve with a polite yet cool detachment, telling him to sit and make himself comfortable.

 

The young girl, who was apparently named Joey, appeared furious. She was practically hissing and spitting as she snarled at Bucky in Spanish, who met each of her sharp and cutting words with soft ones of his own, until finally Bucky heaved a sigh, and said in English, “Do we need to go for a walk, Joey?”

 

“Yes Bucky, we need to go for a walk, _right now_ , because I am so fucking pissed off and we need to have a discussion.” Steve seemed to be the only one surprised by both her tone and language, so all he could do was watch as Bucky sighed again and then nodded.

 

“All right,” he said and turned to Dewy, glancing down at the baby. “Do you want to take her? I think we’re going to be a while.”

 

“Oh god no,” Senora Rodriguez answered instead. “She’s only going to start crying again if you put her down. Take her with you please, we could all use the peace and quiet. Don’t worry, we’ll take care of your Stevie while you’re gone.”

 

“I’ll go get the baby bag. Be right back,” Dewy turned and strode out of the room.

 

“Is that all right with you Joey?” Bucky asked.

 

“Fine,” she hissed and then crossed her arms, tapping her foot on the floor in frustration. Bucky rolled his eyes at her, which only made her frown deepen, and the tempo of her foot tapping increase, until Dewy came back into the room less than a minute later, a pink baby bag in her hands, which she easily draped over Bucky’s shoulder. She pulled him down to whisper something in his ear in Spanish, and then pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. Bucky smiled and returned her peck before he straightened and finally, finally looked at Steve.

 

“Sorry about this,” he said as he made his way over to where Steve was sitting. “Me and Joey need to talk, but it shouldn’t take too long.” He leaned over and laid a kiss of his own to Steve’s cheek, before he whispered into his ear, “I know you’re mad, and I don’t blame you. But just remember what I said before we came in here. They’re great people Stevie, _the best_ , and whatever you’re feeling, please don’t take it out on them.”

 

“I’m not mad Bucky,” Steve shook his head. “I just – I just don’t understand.”

 

“I know, and that’s my fault.”

 

“Don’t worry Bucky, we’ll take care of him,” Senora Rodriguez interrupted. “I’ll get him something to eat while you walk. Now go talk to Josefina before she loses her temper and decides to hack into his bank accounts and donate all of his money to gerbil welfare or a dog racing ring.”

 

“I will too!”

 

“No you won’t, or I won’t teach you how to break into a car with just a paperclip,” Bucky called back, pressing one last kiss to Steve’s lips before he straightened, turned and followed the little girl out of the room.

 

“But you promised!” Steve heard her snarl as they disappeared from view.

 

“Yeah well, that was before you threatened to start spamming Steve’s inbox with photos of gerbils. I mean really, that’s the last thing I need to see every time I check his email to make sure he’s not going to do something stupid.”

 

“It was Abuela’s idea!”

 

“Either way, we should probably stop talking about this while Captain America can still hear us. He takes this kind of shit real seriously.”

 

“It’s your fault for bringing him here.”

 

“Yeah I know. How long are you going to be mad at me for that?” Was the last thing Steve heard before their voices faded away.

 

“Wait a minute…What?” Steve said as Bucky’s words finally clicked in his head. Besides him, Senora Rodriguez merely sighed and shook her head.

 

“They’re going to end up taking over the world, those two,” Dewy chuckled.

 

“Well, they can’t be any worse than who we have now.” Then she straightened and looked at Steve. “They’re going to be a while, so make yourself comfortable Captain Rogers, and I’ll bring you something to eat while we wait for those two to work everything out.” Without pausing for a response, she nodded at her daughter and then turned, striding out of the room without bothering to look back. Steve could only stare after her, still too shocked and confused by all he had just witnessed to do anything else.

 

“They have a very unique relationship, those two.” It was Dewy who broke the silence as she calmly sat herself down in the seat next to Steve’s. Out of all of them, she seemed to be the one who had recovered from Bucky’s surprise the quickest, or perhaps was the least affected by everything that happened so far.

 

“Who?” Steve asked, finally tearing his gaze away from the doorway to face Dewy, paying careful attention to all of her details, trying to determine what Bucky must see every time he looked at her that caused him to smile the way he did.

 

“Bucky and Joey, that’s who.” She had a smooth, deep voice, earthy and vibrant, a little like Bucky’s could be, in the way that it held notes both mischievous yet serious at the same time.

 

“What kind of relationship?” Steve wondered aloud, because he had no idea, and what little he’d seen had not provided him with any clarification either.

 

“They’re best friends,” Dewy said easily.

 

“What?” Steve heard himself ask, a little more sharply than he may have intended. It took him a second to realize there was a spark of jealousy in his voice, because _oh hell no_ , Bucky was _his_ best friend, had always been and always would be his best friend, not some little girl Steve hadn’t even known existed until five minutes ago. And then Steve realized he was jealous of a little girl who he hadn't even known existed until five minutes ago, and couldn’t help but feel a little bit like an asshole.

 

Apparently Dewy could hear it as well, because when she next spoke, there was a bit of a grin in her voice.

 

“Oh yes,” she said. “They’re very close and can spend hours just talking to each other about whatever the hell is on their minds. She probably knew about you, or at least that Bucky had a friend named Stevie, before the rest of us.” She paused, turning her eyes to the doorway where Bucky and Joey had left, staring at it for a moment, saying nothing, before she shook her head.

 

“You may not believe this, but she’s actually very quiet and shy,” she finally said.

 

“Who? Joey?” Steve found himself doubting. That was certainly not the impression he had gotten from watching the two of them interact.

 

“Oh yes.” Dewy nodded. “Her name is Josefina by the way. Make sure you call her that. Only Bucky can call her Joey. It’s his nickname for her and she’s very particular about who she lets call her that.” She shook her head again and then turned back to face Steve with a sad smile. “She has a lot of problems, Captain Rogers, way too many for a thirteen-year-old girl.”

 

“She’s thirteen?”

 

“Oh yes,” Dewy laughed. “I know she doesn’t look it, but we tend to run a bit on the short side in this family. Especially the women. So she looks even younger than she is, which makes it even more difficult for her in school.”

 

“Why?”

 

Dewy titled her head and stared at him, a gesture almost identical to Bucky’s. Steve could tell she was evaluating him, trying to come to an internal decision. She must have been satisfied with what she saw, because she took a deep breath and began to speak.

 

“She’s extremely intelligent. Her IQ’s been tested multiple times, and she’s been rated at a genius level. She attends a special school, but she’s so smart she’s already been skipped ahead two grades, and we’re even considering having her skip another year. And that makes it very hard for her to connect with people her own age. And her mother…Her mother, well, let’s just say that she has a lot of problems of her own, and that doesn’t make it any easier on Josefina either. So she was quiet, and withdrawn, never saying very much to anyone. Me and my mother tried, of course we did, as well as the rest of our family. But she can be very stubborn and suspicious of those around her.

 

“Until one day Bucky showed up, and my mother decided she wanted to feed him, and the two of them started sitting together right here, at this very table.” Dewy gestured at the table with her hand. “She was a little bitch at first. She can be, I won’t deny that. But nothing she said bothered him. He just sat there and let her bitch at him. Or, more he let her bitch at him while really listening to what she was saying. One day, she stopped bitching at him, and started talking to him. He continued to listen, and then started talking back. And then out of the blue, he said something that made her laugh. My mother said she nearly shit her pants when she heard that. He kept coming back, and she kept sitting here at this table with him, and they became friends. They talk all the time, and I know they text each other all day. She tells him things she doesn’t tell anyone else, and he keeps all of her secrets, unless he thinks she’s in danger. He’s already helped us get her out of a bad situation when she wouldn’t let anyone else help her before. And she keeps all of his secrets as well. We all _adore_ Bucky, and he’s become a huge part of this family. But the two of them have something very special, that I think they can only give each other.” She was smiling, but there was something steely and determined, deep in the deceptively warm brown of her eyes.

 

“So I know you’re confused, and probably think it's strange for a grown man to be best friends with a thirteen year old girl. But it is what it is, and you have to respect it. We all do. And it wouldn’t be fair to either of them if you tried to force them to choose.”

 

“I wouldn’t,” Steve answered. He didn’t understand this strange dynamic Dewy had just told him about, and these people were strangers to him. But he did know Bucky, and how he had a way about him, an insight, and a skill, that was unique to him. It gave him the ability to perceive the truth of someone and if he determined that they were worthy, he would not change himself per se, but adapt and become their shield, a steady field full of safety for them to lay down their roots and grow into whoever it was they were meant to be.

 

Bucky had done it for him. If Dewy was telling him the truth about Josefina, and he had no reason to doubt her words, then that young woman was a bit like he had been during their youth. And she could have no better friend in the world than Bucky.

 

Dewy was still staring at him, relaxed and comfortable by his side, but studying him. Steve met her gaze, thinking back to all he had just witnessed in the past fifteen minutes, and was struck by a thought.

 

“Can I ask you something?” he ventured a few seconds later.

 

“You can ask me anything you like Captain Rogers,” she grinned. “I may not answer you, but you can ask.”

 

“The baby…” Steve heard himself whisper. He didn’t want to know the answer, because if what he thought was true, it would change everything. But he still needed to know.

 

“Nina, yes, what about her?”

 

“Is - is Bucky her father?”

 

Before he had finished, Dewy burst out laughing.

 

“Bucky her father? Oh my god no!” she snorted. “He’s her uncle and her godfather. Although I will admit at first, I wouldn’t have minded fucking him. He’s gorgeous.” She laughed with all of her body, and it lit her up from within, making her even more beautiful. Free and easy and light-hearted; so unlike the laughs from so many of the women already in his life, who had their own burdens and secrets they were carrying. As he watched her, he could start to see it, what it was about her that made Bucky lean in and kiss her cheek in greeting, returning her easy smile with one of his own.

 

“Seriously, Captain Rogers,” she began once she finally stopped laughing. “I _adore_ Bucky, and he’s my best friend as well. But that’s because he’s my brother, in spirit if not blood. And I may be the horniest woman you ever meet, but even I have no interest in incest.”

 

Steve just stared at her, having no idea how to respond to her latest words. She winked at him, and then just as quickly as she had laughed, she grew quiet, the expression on her face intense but serene.

 

“As for Bucky and Nina, like I said, he’s not her father, although I could understand why you would think so from the way he is with her. He’s probably the closest thing to a father my baby will ever have, and I couldn’t ask for a better one, because he takes such good care of her. He comes every day to see her, and if either of us need anything, all I have to do is call him, and he’s here. He feeds her and changes her diapers and babysits when we need him to, and has driven me to her pediatrician whenever there’s an appointment. She’s a healthy baby, but she’s colicky, and he’s the only one who can get her to settle down. So I wasn’t joking when I said the two of you need to stop having sex long enough for him to come over every night and hold her, because I need my fucking sleep.”

 

“Yeah…Okay,” Steve said absently. She was talking to him, telling him things, offering her own explanation of what Steve had just seen, but Steve found he was no closer to understanding the situation Bucky had pulled him into then when he first walked in.

 

“Good,” Dewy proclaimed happily. “You respect that, and you and I will get along just fine.”

 

“Okay,” Steve said again, and then blinked himself out of his stupor. “You said he was her godfather?”

 

“Mm-hmm,” Dewy hummed, pulling her cell out from somewhere. “We made the decision as soon as we found out I was pregnant. We all knew it was the right one back then, but after he ended up in the delivery room with me, we knew there couldn’t be any other choice.”

 

“Wait – What? He was in the delivery room with you?” Steve felt his eyes going round, but every word, every single goddamned word from this woman’s mouth was an even greater surprise.

 

“Mm-hmm,” Dewy hummed again, flicking on her phone. “He was with me when my water broke, three weeks early, and he just scooped me up, carried me to your truck and drove me the hospital, where I threatened his balls if he didn’t come into the delivery room with me.” She was laughing again, as if the memory was a good one. “But he was the first one to hold her after me, and if you look, you can see it was love at first sight.” She handed Steve her phone, where on its screen was a picture of Bucky in a hospital gown and hair cap, staring down at the wrinkled and pink newborn infant in his arms. And Dewy was right; because Steve could see it, plain as day, there in Bucky’s eyes as he looked at the baby. Absolute love and adoration.

 

“That’s the very first picture of Bucky and his goddaughter, Nina Sarah Rodriguez,” Dewy said softly, respectful of the awe she must have seen in Steve’s eyes. But then her words caught, and Steve felt his brow furrowing.

 

“Wait…Sarah?” he heard himself ask.

 

“Yes, Sarah,” Dewy nodded. “As her godfather, he was the one who got to pick her middle name. And he chose Sarah.”

 

“That’s… _That’s…_ ” Steve’s words died away trapped within the sudden tightness of his throat. Because Bucky hadn’t mentioned this, hadn’t said _a single, goddamned thing_ about any of it, this part of his life that was obviously vital and crucial to who he was. And yet still, still, in his own way, he had brought Steve into it, before Steve even had the slightest idea it existed.

 

“Your mother’s name,” Dewy said gently, laying a very soft hand over his own. “Yes, we know. We know a lot about you Steven,” she went on, calling him by given name for the first time, “Even if you don’t know anything about us, _yet_. But that will change.”

 

When Steve looked up from her phone, through eyes wet with tears, she was smiling at him, kind and warm. And she was suddenly a woman that he wanted, needed to know better. This woman Bucky had chosen to be his sister, who had given him a godchild, that Bucky had named after Steve’s own mother.

 

“Would you like me to send you a copy of that picture?” she asked, and she was kind, so kind.

 

“Yes please,” Steve whispered.

 

“Here, put your number in my phone and I’ll text it to you, along with a few others I think you’d probably like.”

 

“He never said anything.” Steve shook his head in disbelief as he entered his number into Dewy’s mobile. He could see that Dewy was about to say something as she took it back from him when a voice cut in from behind.

 

“Bucky has his secrets and he keeps them well. But he has his reasons and we need to respect that about him.”

 

When Steve turned, he saw that Senora Rodriguez had returned, standing in the doorway to the small room, a tray carefully balanced in her hands.

 

“Hey Mami,” Dewy said with a smile. “Back so soon?” Senora Rodriguez ignored her daughter as she stepped forward, making her way to the table where she carefully deposited the tray and then straightened.

 

“Dorcas.” Her voice was strong, commanding as she spoke. “Bucky and Josefina should be back in a little while. Go upstairs and keep an eye on the rice. I need to have a conversation with Captain Rogers before they get here.”

 

“Ay, go easy on him Mami. He’s not so bad.”

 

“Dorcas.”

 

Dewy looked back at Steve with a small smile and a little shrug, before she swiped her phone from Steve’s hand. She rose from the table and smoothly sauntered from the room, tossing a careless “Good luck,” over her shoulder before she disappeared from view.

 

***

 

“So how pissed off at me are you? Really?”

 

They had spent the past twenty minutes walking down Fourth Avenue with Joey hissing and spitting at him, casting him sidelong little sneers while she cursed at him in a steaming stew of English and Spanish.

 

“I’m fucking furious with you,” she spat, kicking at a discarded paper cup on the sidewalk.

 

“Will you finally stop pitching a fit and tell me why?” He framed the question gently though, because she was upset, her entire body vibrating with it, and he hated knowing he was the one who had caused it.

 

“Why? Why? Why?” She finally stopped her frantic pace and turned to face him, crossing her arms. “Because you didn’t say anything Bucky. All this time when you telling me about your Stevie, you never once said he was really Captain America!”

 

“Ssssh!” Bucky urged her, not wanting to cause a scene. She ignored him.

 

“I tell you everything Bucky, _everything!_ And I thought you did the same with me. We’re not supposed to have secrets from each other, not anymore! And you didn’t tell me this! That’s not fair Bucky, it’s not fair!”

 

“Joey, I do tell you everything. You know more about me and Stevie than anybody else.”

 

“But you didn’t tell me this,” Joey snarled. “And it’s a big deal Bucky, it’s a big fucking deal.” She continued stomping down the street, kicking the cup as she went. Bucky sighed, pressed a quick kiss to Nina’s forehead and followed.

 

“It wasn’t mine to tell,” he said.

 

“Of course it was!”

 

“Not really, no,” he went on. “It’s complicated Joey, and I was trying to respect Steve’s privacy. Do you think it’s easy for him, being who he is?”

 

“You’re a liar,” she hissed over her shoulder. “You’re a fucking liar who lies and I fucking hate you.” She was all venom and rage, anger and fury. But Bucky could see it, the cracking beneath all of her shields. She was hurt. And afraid. And even worse, there were tears in her eyes.

 

“Joey,” he called. When she ignored him, he increased his pace until he was blocking her way and knelt down in front of her so that they were face to face. “Joey, what’s the matter? Really?” He took a chance and reached out to gently tug, just once, on the chain he knew was around her throat, from which hung the matching charm to the one on his. “Please, I’m begging you, just tell me. And I promise you, I’ll do my best to make it better.” She shook her head and looked away from him, her hands clenched into fists that trembled at her sides.

 

“I can’t compete with that,” she finally whispered through clenched teeth and tear filled eyes.

 

“What?” Bucky didn’t understand. She shook her head again, and closed her eyes.

 

“He’s Captain America and he’s an Avenger,” she finally said. “And he’s tall and good looking and everybody wants to know Captain America. And I’m…I’m just Josefina Rodriguez and I’m short and I’m fat and I have stupid hair and I can’t compete with that Bucky, I can’t. And you just came back and you’re my only friend and I don’t stand a chance now.”

 

She started to cry, right there in the middle of the street. And oh no, oh no, _ohnohnohno_. This was wrong, this was so wrong, and it was all his fault.

 

“Hey, hey,” Bucky said, reaching out with his free arm to pull Joey in close to hug her tightly. “It’s not like that Joey. It’s not like that at all.”

 

“Of course it is.” She was stiff against his shoulder, a tiny, tight ball of contradictions as she struggled to hold herself together when what she really wanted to do was let go and sob. “It’s going to be just like it was with my mother. Everything was fine, until she got another stupid boyfriend and then she stopped paying attention to me and would disappear for weeks at a time and just leave me there by myself.”

 

“No Joey, no!” Bucky growled. “This is not like that at all. And I am not going to abandon you. Steve’s my boyfriend, but you’re my closest friend. Not Stevie, _you_. And I promised you I was never going to leave you again, and I meant it Joey. I’m not going anywhere. _I promise you._ ”

 

“You swear?” she whispered.

 

“Yeah Joey, I swear. I wouldn’t know what I’d do without you.”

 

She let go then, collapsing against his shoulder in a messy curl of tears and snot. Bucky could feel the wet of it making its way to his skin, but that only made him tighten his embrace and hold her even closer, while against his other shoulder Nina cooed at the world as it went by.

 

“Do you want to know the real reason why I didn’t tell you who Steve really was?” he asked a few minutes later, when she had finally calmed. He leaned back and reached into his pocket for a handkerchief, which he held out for her to take.

 

“Why?” She took it from his hands and blew her nose.

 

“It’s a secret, and if I tell you, you have to promise not to tell anyone else. Not even Abuela.”

 

“I promise.” She looked at him and for the first time all night, he saw all of her usual curiosity and keen intelligence in her eyes.

 

“I was scared,” Bucky finally admitted.

 

“Scared? Of what?”

 

“Of everything you just said.”

 

“What?”

 

Bucky sighed. “He’s Captain America, Joey. Well, I mean to me, he’s always been Stevie. But the truth is, he’s everything you said he is. He’s brave and strong and everyone wants to get to know him. I mean, who wouldn’t want to know the world’s first Avenger.” Bucky paused to shake his head. “And I’m just Bucky. I’m a nobody, you know. But I’m a nobody who loves you and your family, and I was scared that if I did introduce you guys, you would forget about me. And I couldn’t blame you. I mean, he is Captain America after all.”

 

“That’s just stupid Bucky!” She was angry again, but this time it wasn’t at him, but for him. He could see her usual fire rising in her eyes. “He may be Captain America, but that doesn’t mean he’s not an idiot. I mean seriously Bucky, he just stood there the whole time not saying a damned thing. Does he even talk?”

 

“Get him on a roll and he never fucking shuts up.”

 

“I bet it’s never about anything interesting though,” she decided on her own.

 

“It really never is. I mean seriously Joey, the guy can go on for hours about why taxes are important and paying them is everyone’s civic duty, when all I want is for him to shut up and let me watch the next episode of Game of Thrones in peace.”

 

“I can’t believe we have to wait two more years for the next season.”

 

“No shit,” Bucky smiled at her. “I really wish I was a Targaryen.”

 

“Oh please. It’s obvious you’re one of The Faceless Men,” she  countered with a smile of her own. But she stopped then, staring at him, her expression serious. “And you’re stupid Bucky. I don’t care who he is. He’s just some idiot who runs around in a stupid outfit and throws a plate. You’re the only one I really give a damn about. Well, you and Abuela and tia.”

 

“Just us three?” Bucky arched an eyebrow at her until she sighed.

 

“No, and Nina too. She’s all right I guess, as long as she’s not crying all night.” She blew her nose one last time and then shoved the handkerchief back into his hand.

 

“Ugh, gross.” But Bucky was smiling as he shoved it back into his pocket. She looked at him with a small, little smile and shook her head.

 

“You’re very sneaky, you know that?” she finally said.

 

“Yep,” he agreed.

 

“But that’s why we get along so well. You’re going to be a great second in command when I take over the world.”

 

“Counting on it Joey.” He paused and looked at her. “We good now? You okay?”

 

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I’m okay.” She stepped forward and wrapped him in a tight hug, her short arms snug around his throat.

 

“And I am sorry Joey. I never meant to hurt you like that,” he said when she finally let him go, rising to his feet and holding his hand out to her.

 

“I know.” She took his hand in hers and began to lead him down the street. “But you can still be stupid sometimes.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” he agreed easily, allowing her to choose their course and pace.

 

“And if he makes you happy, I guess it’s okay,” she admitted after a few more steps.

 

“Thank you,” he sighed out, giving her hand a squeeze.

 

“I still don’t think I’m going to like him though.”

 

“Can you at least try to be polite?” he asked. She made a small, disparaging sound from the back of her throat. Bucky laughed. “I said polite, not nice.”

 

“Ugh, I’ll try.” She rolled her eyes at him. “But only if he’s polite to me. From everything you’ve said, he sounds like a bossy know-it-all.”

 

“You have no idea…But you know, just tell him the rules, like you told me back at the beginning. He was a captain in the army after all, he knows how to follow orders.”

 

“Oh really?” she asked. And when she glanced at him, there was a look in her eyes that Bucky couldn’t help but match with a grin of his own.

 

 _Oh, this was going to be so much fun,_ he thought as he followed her all the way back to her grandmother’s house.

 

***

 

Where Dewy was all easy going smiles and golden laughter, Senora Rodriguez was deep, still waters surrounding a core of solid steel. She didn’t say a word once her daughter had left, just calmly placed a plate in front of Steve, as well as a cup of coffee, which had been prepared exactly the way Steve liked. She studied him the entire time, until she was done, when she straightened and, just like her daughter had, stared at the door through which Bucky and her granddaughter had left. She held that way for an entire moment, her gaze on the door, until she closed her eyes and shook her head.

 

“Senora Rodriguez?” Steve spoke softly when the silence had become unbearable. She opened her eyes, shook her head one more time and then sighed.

 

“Captain Steven Grant Rogers,” she eventually said. But she wasn’t speaking to him, not really. It was more as if she had discovered a truth, and by giving it voice, she was forcing herself to accept it. “And Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th. All this time, and he never said anything.” Steve jerked in his chair, the sudden action causing her to glance at him.

 

“You knew?” he asked as he met her gaze.

 

“Not until I saw you for the first time,” she answered in a calm and steady voice. “But I’m not stupid Captain Rogers, and I know my history.” She shook her head and sighed again. “That boy. But he makes so much more sense now.” She suddenly froze, as if struck by another thought, a painful one if the way she collapsed into a chair and covered her mouth while closing her eyes yet again was any indication.

 

“He said he was captured in a war and tortured,” she whispered. “It was _that_ war?”

 

“Yes, Senora,” Steve answered just as quietly.

 

“And it was for all that time?”

 

“Yes, Senora,” Steve said again.

 

“Oh my god, oh my god. No wonder he always looked so lost.”

 

“You can’t say anything to anyone. They don’t know where is. And if they find out, they’ll come back for him.”

 

If anything, his words seemed to pull her back into the here and now, and she turned to him with a look of icy determination in her eyes.

 

“Do not insult me Captain Rogers,” she said, straightening her shoulders. “I read the files your teammate released onto the web. I know all about what HYDRA’s capable of.” She pulled herself together and stared at Steve. “But now there are things you and I need to discuss. Because if you’re going to date my son, and yes Captain Rogers, he is my son no matter what year he was born, then we have to come to an understanding.”

 

“Okay.” And Steve found himself again wondering who on earth were these women, and how the hell had Bucky found them.  She was still studying him, her eyes intent, until she eventually gestured to the plate in front of him.

 

“Eat,” she commanded. “They’re going to be a while yet, and Bucky says you like my food.”

 

“I love it,” Steve admitted, not trying to win her over, only speaking the truth. “Everything he’s ever brought back from here has been delicious.”

 

She laughed at that, not as if what he said was amusing, but if she had just realized another truth and was laughing at herself.

 

“He told me you had a very dangerous job, and that he worried every time you went to work. And I told him every time he was worried that he could come here, and I would make him something special to bring back to you.” She shook her head. “I thought you were a cop.”

 

“No, I’m not a cop.” Steve stared down at the three circular fried patties on his plate. Bucky had never fed him these before, but they smelled, as all the food that Bucky had brought back from this place, from this woman’s actual kitchen, delicious.

 

“Bacalaito.” She saw his curiosity and explained. “Fried, salted codfish. It’s not the main meal, but it should hold you over until everybody comes back.”

 

Steve nodded and picked one of the bacalaitos up. It was still warm, and when he bit into it, it exploded in his mouth in a combination of grease and light flaky fish with just a bit of a salty kick. It was both crunchy and smooth, and definitely worth a second, third and fourth bite. She watched him eat, observing his expressions and seemed satisfied when he finished the first one and reached for the second.

 

“Listen Captain Rogers,” she began, leaning back in her chair. “I don’t know anything about you aside from what everybody else does, when we studied our history and saw on the news the day they pulled you from the ice. From what I have heard, you’re a good man who has always stood up for what he believes, and I've always admired and respected that about you.”

 

“Thank you.” Steve wiped his fingers on the napkin she had provided and took a sip of coffee.

 

“Now Stevie, I feel like I know him, because Bucky has told me a lot about you,” she went on. “So, I know that he too is a good man, who also always stands up for what he believes. But I also know that he’s been a good friend, who has done everything in his power to help someone in need. I know that it hasn’t been easy for either of you, and that you’ve both struggled along the way. But I also know that you never once gave up on Bucky, even when he was ready to give up on himself. That you’ve always been able to make him laugh like no one else, and have been arguing about what to do with the lot behind your house, and that you’ve both enjoyed the Harry Potter books.” She paused, her gaze a whirlpool of emotions Steve’s couldn’t begin to differentiate.

 

“And I also know that he’s been madly in love with you for his entire life. And that this past month has been one of the happiest ones of his life.”

 

“It’s mutual,” Steve said, meeting her gaze directly, daring her to challenge this when she didn’t know him, not really, no matter what Bucky may have told her.

 

“Thank you,” she acknowledged. “As his mother, and yes you will get used to that, I can’t thank you enough. I understand, especially now, that the two of you have a relationship that none of us will ever really be able to understand. He needs you, and from what he’s told me about you, I think you need him just as much.” She leaned forward, making sure to keep her eyes on his. “But he's a very important part of this family, and we need him just as much. My granddaughter and daughter both adore him, and the baby will only fall asleep at night if he’s here to hold her in his arms. He likes to gossip with Dorcas, and take walks with Josefina, and sit in my kitchen with me and tell me all about his day while we drink tea.”

 

“Were you the one who gave him the peppermint tea?”

 

“Yes. I made him a cup the first time he threw up in my bathroom after he had a bad flashback – and yes Captain Rogers, we all know about those too.”

 

“Thank you. It helps him a lot, so, just, thank you.”

 

“You’re very welcome Captain.” She nodded again, a Queen bestowing a grace upon one of her subjects. “Like I said, we know a lot about him, and you. But we don’t _know_ you, not yet. But as long as you respect us, and Bucky’s place in this family, you’ll be more than welcome here. Keep loving him and making him smile like you do, and I will keep making you all the pastelon and sancocho you can eat. Fair?” She was studying him when he looked up from the last bacalaito on his plate.

 

Steve could see it in her; this woman was a lioness and she was protecting one of her cubs. He had no doubt she would rip him to shreds if she felt at any moment he was a threat to her family. He had faced Red Skull, aliens from another dimension, and was good friends with the God of Thunder, and the Hulk. And none of them had been as intimidating as this woman as she sat there, ready to go to war over the well-being of one of her children.

 

“Throw in some tostones and we have a deal.” She may have been fierce, but well, Bucky always said he never did know when to shut up. To his surprise and great relief, she laughed. It was a nice sound, warm and rich, and with the love a mother should have when it came to her children.

 

“Oh, Bucky was right about you,” she said. “You’re a pain in the ass.”

 

***

 

Fifteen minutes later, Steve was on his second cup of coffee, but still no food (or tostones) when he heard a familiar laugh, warm and beloved, and the sound of stomping making its way towards the room where he was sitting. The young woman, Josefina, tore through the curtain and stormed in, striding directly toward Steve, where she stood over him, and with crossed arms and a glare that could rival Medusa’s announced,

 

“You are sitting in my seat.”

 

“What?” Steve asked, just as Bucky walked in, Nina asleep on his shoulder.

 

“I said,” she began, enunciating each word clearly, “That you are sitting in. My. Seat. That’s my seat. It’s always been my seat. Bucky sits there,” with that, she pointed to the chair at the corner of the table, where if someone was sitting their back would be against the wall. “And I sit there.” She pointed back to Steve’s chair. “That’s one of the rules. And if you’re going to start hanging around, and I think you will, because for some stupid reason Bucky really likes you, then you need to follow all the rules. If you don’t, I’m going to hack into your Instagram account and start posting photos of you having sex with goats.”

 

“ _What?_ ”

 

From the doorway, Bucky shook his head, and started to laugh. _The traitor_.

 

***

 

The rest of the evening was certainly one of the most unique ones Steve ever experienced. Once he switched his seat and listened to Joey’s list of rules, which included very specific items such as:

 

_'Bucky and me like to take a walk every day during the week at three o’clock, and we go for a late lunch, no matter what. So, he has to be here no later than two-fifty-five Mondays through Fridays. You can have him on the week-ends but during the week he has to be here on time, no exceptions.'_

And -

 

_'Sometimes if I’m going somewhere or if something important is happening, Bucky needs to be here in the mornings to do my hair. So if I need him to do my hair, I’m going to call and you better let him pick up the phone, even if you’re having butt-sex.'_

And -

 

_'My name is Josefina Luisa Marianna Rodriguez. You can call me either Josefina or Miss Rodriguez. But never Joey. Only Bucky gets to call me that because he’s my best friend, not yours, and only my best friend gets to call me Joey.'_

Senora Rodriguez walked back in, turned to Bucky with a smile and asked, “So Bucky, since it’s his first time here, what do you think your Stevie would like to eat?”

 

Bucky glanced at Steve, and must have taken in the on-going expression of shock Steve knew had been on his face since he first walked in, and smiled.

 

“He looks a bit overwhelmed Mami, so I think he deserves some chuletas.”

 

“Oh god, you and your pork chops Bucky. You should have picked the mofongo. Everybody knows Abuela’s mofongo is the best,” Joey cut in.

 

“Next time,” Bucky said.

 

“There’s going to be a next time?”

 

“Of course there is. Steve’s his boyfriend Josefina, and no matter how many rules you just proclaimed, if you want to see more of Bucky, you’re going to see more of Captain Rogers as well,” Dewy said, striding breezily into the room with a small baby chair in her arms. She placed it on the floor in an out of the way corner not too far from the table, and then looked over Bucky’s shoulder at Nina. “Oh thank god, she’s asleep.”

 

“Yeah, she finally conked out about ten minutes ago.” Bucky rose and very carefully deposited Nina in the little nest of blankets and pillows, making sure to strap her in the chair before he covered the lower half of her body with a fuzzy yellow quilt. Across the table from Steve, Joey huffed and rolled her eyes.

 

“Just wait until you get a girlfriend of your own Josefina.” Dewy sat herself next to Steve, crinkling her eyes at him, just as Senora Rodriguez left the room and Bucky returned to his original chair. “You’ll understand then.”

 

“I understand now,” Joey snapped. “I just think Bucky can do better. I mean, if it’s a uniform thing, Freddito's a fireman. And he has full benefits too.”

 

“This is true,” Dewy agreed. “Health insurance and dental. That’s nothing to sneeze at in this day and age.”

 

“What?”

 

“Stop trying to set me up with your cousin, Dewy,” Bucky grumbled.

 

“Oh come on, Freddito is actually really good looking Bucky, and I think you’d really like him. He was even in one of those calendars two years ago,” Dewy went on with a casual wave of her hand. “And if nothing else, you can be sure he would know how to work a pole.”

 

“What?”

 

“Stevie knows how to work my pole just fine.”

 

“Oh god, that’s disgusting. This is why I’m a lesbian.”

 

“What?”

 

“Oh please,” Dewy went on, “You were the one who was reading Firehouse Fucks last week.”

 

“Did you send that one to me?” Bucky asked Joey.

 

“No.” She shook her head. “It was stupid. I hated Jason. Handcuffs of Love was much better.”

 

“Oh god, that one was  _so_ good,” Dewy nodded.

 

“I know right.” It was Bucky’s turn again. “Teddy was hot.”

 

“He was!” Dewy was practically bouncing in her seat. “And that scene in the back of the squad car!”

 

“So fucking good,” Bucky agreed.

 

“I can’t wait for Jake’s story,” Joey cut in.

 

“When’s that one coming out?” Bucky asked.

 

“A month,” Joey said. “But she already posted the title and cover on her FaceBook page. It’s called The Cocky Cop.”

 

“ _What?_ ”

 

“I think we broke him Bucky,” Dewy said with a glance in Steve’s direction.

 

“Well, that didn’t take long,” Bucky sighed.

 

***

 

It got a bit easier after that, especially once Senora Rodriguez returned and began covering the table with full platters of steaming food. There was salad, arroz con gondules, buttered slices of bread, tostones, and the by now (at least to Steve) infamous chuletas. Everything was absolutely amazing, but especially the pork chops when Steve was finally able to take his first bite. From across the table, Bucky saw the expression on his face, and smiled at him, warm and soft (and just a little bit sad for some reason Steve didn’t yet comprehend). But he only kicked Steve’s foot lightly before he reached across the table and placed another pork chop on Steve’s plate. Out of all of them, only Joey seemed to notice the gesture, and she frowned at it, opening her mouth to say something. Bucky nudged her with his elbow, and slid three of his own tostones onto her dish, before he leaned back in his chair and took a sip from his bottle of Malta. Which, Steve had to admit, was one of the most disgusting things he’d ever tasted, and he had eaten roadkill and rat stew (actually prepared by Bucky) back during the war. They all laughed at his expression as Steve started to gag, before Dewy was kind enough to slide a bottle of Coco Rico in front of him as an alternative. Steve loved her already, if only for that. Then they all resumed eating, their conversation bubbling easily around them like a river over stones. Steve barely said a word, and instead just sat and ate and watched, trying to capture the moment, and steady his heart which had started to race.

 

Because this was both old and new. He had shared hundreds, maybe thousands of meals like this with Bucky when they were growing up. Once Bucky decided that Steve was his new best friend, he had dragged him to his apartment and introduced him to his family. Not too long after that, Sarah and Winifred had met, and the two of them became fast friends. And just like that, Steve and his mother had a new, larger family, vibrant and loud, to share laughter, resources, good times and bad, and whatever food they could afford, when before their lives had been quiet and still and a little  lonely.

 

And once again, Bucky had dragged him home to meet his family, that was also vibrant and loud, and willing to share their food and their home, as long as Steve kept doing what he had always done, and continued to love Bucky with all of his heart.

 

How could he not. Because as secretive and sneaky as he could sometimes be (and he was even more so now than he had been even back during their youth), whenever Bucky found a treasure or something that was precious and dear to his heart, he always ended up sharing it with Steve, even at a great cost to himself. Steve just wondered, and worried a little bit, as to why it had taken so long for Bucky to share this with him as well. There was definitely a reason for it; there was always a reason whenever Bucky made any decision he did, and it pricked at his mind, almost like a sore tooth he couldn’t stop probing with his tongue. Did Bucky think that Steve wasn’t going to like these women, or would somehow try to pull him away from this small, but amazing family he had somehow managed to weave around himself? Did he think Steve wouldn’t understand or for some reason reject this great gift that once again Bucky was giving him? Or was it something else. Did Bucky think Steve would take one look at this cluster of blood and bonds and familial love and try to steal it from him? Take something from Bucky that he obviously needed, rip it from his hands, when it was something he cherished and adored? He thought on that for a bit, uncomfortable with how it resonated just a bit too close to home for his liking. Because Bucky always made sacrifices when it came to those he loved, giving, giving, giving, until there was barely anything left for himself, and never once complained. He bitched and moaned about a lot of things, and was still the most stubborn son of a bitch Steve had ever known. But when it came to those he loved, those he had decided were under his care, he had the most generous and selfless heart of anyone in the world.

 

He was even doing it now, making sure Steve got the last pork chop, and sliding his last two tostones onto Joey’s plate, while he constantly looked over his shoulder to check on his goddaughter, rising when she started to fuss so Dewy could sit and finish her meal in peace. Midway through dinner, he stepped out of the room to help stack the chairs on top of the tables in the outside dining area once the restaurant had closed for the night, before finally sitting back down to finish his food. He let Joey huff and bitch at him about whatever crossed her mind, listening to her intently and always taking everything she said seriously. When Dewy reminded him about Nina’s next doctor’s appointment on Thursday, for a check-up and her next set of vaccinations, he readily agreed to go with her. When Senora Rodriguez asked him if he would able to bring the SUV around tomorrow morning and drive her to the local Costco so she could stock up on items for the family, Bucky glanced at Steve to check if it would be okay for him to use the truck. At Steve’s nod, Bucky readily agreed, and then turned to Dewy to ask her if there was anything she would need as well. And once they were all done eating, he rose again without a word, carefully stacked all of the plates and platters, and carried them upstairs. He returned a few minutes later with a large aluminum tray of flan and a full pot of coffee with several mugs that Senora Rodriguez  must have already prepared. He let everyone serve themselves first, before he took his own plate and poured himself a cup of coffee and rejoined the conversation.

 

So damned _Bucky_ , and so easy to overlook, because just like he could sometimes wrap himself in silence and will himself invisible in the middle of a crowded room, he could also cloak himself in charm and easy-going smiles, hiding whatever it was that was really going through his mind behind a sly grin and a well-placed joke. Steve was worrying over it, trying to figure out how he was going to approach Bucky about it, when Bucky excused himself to use the bathroom, and he heard Dewy’s voice cutting through the air.

 

“Mami,” she hissed in a sharp tone, once Bucky finally disappeared behind the curtained doorway.

 

“Si, Dewy,” Senora Rodriguez said in a matching voice. “I see it.” Steve looked up to see her staring at the doorway, her eyes narrowed. “But don’t worry, I’m going to talk to him about it.” Across from him, Joey took a deep breath and opened her mouth to say something, but Senora Rodriguez quickly cut her gaze to her and she fell quiet. “Don’t worry nena. I’ll make sure he understands.” Joey held still for a moment, before she nodded and went back to her flan.

 

“He’s always been like that,” Steve said quietly, speaking up for the first time that evening.

 

“You see it too?” Senora Rodriguez asked.

 

“Of course I do.” He kept his voice low, knowing he needed to be careful, that with Bucky’s enhanced senses it would be easy for him to overhear their discussion. But his words came out a bit harsher than he intended. “In spite of what you may think of me, I have loved him all my life, and I do know him better than anybody else.” From his side, Dewy snorted softly. But Senora Rodriguez only stared at him, meeting his gaze calmly for a few seconds before she eventually nodded her head.

 

“Then you know we still have a lot of work to do,” she finally said. “But don’t worry Captain Rogers. You’re not alone with this anymore. And we’re going to help make sure he remembers how important he is to all of us.”

 

That was the exact moment when Steve fell in love with all of them, and decided in his own way, just like Bucky had, to make them his. Not to take them from Bucky or force him to choose. But because they were Bucky’s, and they loved him almost as much as he did (and no one, _no one_ could ever love Bucky as much as Steve), and he was going to do everything in his power to protect them and keep them safe. One of Bucky’s few treasures, sacred and precious, and Steve was going to make damned sure that nothing in the world ever took anything away from Bucky, ever again.

 

“Please,” Steve said, lifting his head and looking back at these three women who were all staring at him. “Call me Steve.”

 

***

 

Once Bucky returned and the last of their dessert had been finished, Senora Rodriguez ordered Bucky to remain seated, and then instructed Joey to help her carry all the plates upstairs, because it was late, Joey needed to go to bed, and Senora Rodriguez needed to watch the latest episode of her favorite telenovela that she had DVRed, because Bucky had finally decided to introduce them to his Stevie. Joey looked as if she was about to protest, but then changed her mind, went over to where Bucky was sitting and wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him tightly, before she kissed his cheek and said, “See you tomorrow Bucky.”

 

“Later Joey.” Bucky watched with a smile as Joey easily gathered all the plates, glanced at Steve with a tiny huff, and then turned and disappeared up the back stairs. As Senora Rodriguez rose to follow her, Steve did the same, holding his hand out for her to shake.

 

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Senora Rodriguez,” he said. She came forward, but bypassed his hand, instead reaching out with her arms and pulling him into a hug.

 

“And it was nice to finally meet you as well Steve,” she said, placing a quick, dry kiss to his cheek. “I hope we’ll be seeing a lot more of you around from now on.”

 

“You can count on it.”

 

“Good,” she said as she released him from her embrace and stepped back. “And please, call me Lulu.” She turned to look at Bucky, who had also risen, and hugged him as well, kissing his cheek. As she did, she whispered something softly into his ear in Spanish. Bucky’s eyes widened, but she only tightened her hold and said something else, until he eventually sighed and nodded, and then bent forward to lay a kiss of his own upon her cheek. She cupped his face in her hand and smiled at him, before she once more stepped away and glanced at her daughter.

 

“What about you? You staying down here or are you coming up?” she asked.

 

“I’m staying,” Dewy said. “Me and Bucky need to talk.”

 

“You mean gossip,” Lulu said.

 

“Same thing,” Dewy retorted with a careless wave of her hand. Lulu rolled her eyes at her, but then with a last smile, she too turned and disappeared up the back stairway.

 

Bucky peered down to check on Nina and frowned. “She’s starting to fuss,” he said.

 

“She’s probably getting hungry. Here, give her to me and I’ll feed her while we talk, because you are not going to believe Bucky, what I found out today.”

 

“What?” Bucky voice was eager as he bent over and oh-so-gently lifted Nina, kissing her forehead once before he carefully handed her over into Dewy’s waiting arms. Steve followed Bucky as he sat back down, while across from him, as if this was something they did every day, (which Steve realized they probably did) Dewy leaned back in her chair, kicked off her shoes, and placed her bare feet in Bucky’s lap. As Steve watched, she lowered the strap of her sundress from her shoulder, revealing her breast before she lifted Nina to her nipple, where the baby instantly began to suckle. Steve blinked, a bit stunned by the easy casualness of it all, but Bucky didn’t even react. Steve then remembered that Bucky’d had three younger sisters, and had lived in a small apartment with them, along with both his mother and father. Privacy had not been a luxury available to any of them growing up, so watching a woman breastfeed her child was something that was probably very familiar to him, even if he more than likely couldn’t remember why. And neither of them seemed to care that Steve was there, so Steve just shrugged it off and turned his attention back to their conversation.

 

“So you’re never going to believe what I heard from Gracie today,” Dewy began, once Nina had settled, her eyes closing while she continued to suckle.

 

“What?” Bucky asked, his expresion eager as he leaned forward.

 

“Well you know Caroline, and how she’s always going on about how Johnnie fucks her hard enough to make her scream?”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky said.

 

“Wait a minute, who’s Caroline?” Steve asked.

 

“She’s the owner of Sunset Waves, the hair salon over on Sixth and Fifty-Eighth Street,” Bucky told him.

 

“And who’s Johnnie?”

 

“He’s the old guy who works at the butchers on Sixth and Fifty-Seventh,” Bucky said.

 

“Prime Cuts?” Steve wanted to confirm.

 

“That’s the one.” Dewy nodded. “Anyway, she was at his apartment, apparently getting her daily dosage of sausage, when she started digging through his drawers –“

 

“Because she is one of the nosiest busy bodies I have ever met,” Bucky cut in.

 

“No kidding,” Dewy agreed. “But anyway, she was digging through his drawers when she found a leopard print bustier that wasn’t hers.”

 

“Ha!” Bucky cackled.

 

“Wait, there’s more.”

 

“Do tell.”

 

“It didn’t belong to her, but she knew who it did belong to, because it was the exact one, same size and cut, that she had given her daughter for Christmas,” Dewy beamed.

 

“You’re shitting me!”

 

“I am not,” Dewy smiled. “But it gets even better.”

 

“Oh god, how?” Bucky asked.

 

“From what Gracie told me, Caroline came storming back into the salon, with a bunch of bustiers clenched in her fist, and threw them in Penny’s face –“

 

“Wait? Who’s Penny?” Steve couldn’t help but cut in.

 

“Caroline’s daughter. She’s the colorist at the salon. Now shut up Stevie and let Dewy finish.”

 

“Anyway, she threw them in Penny’s face and started screaming at her, accusing her daughter of being a man-stealing ho, in front of all the customers, while Penny started spraying her with the hose from the shampoo station and told her mother that it wasn’t her fault that Caroline’s dried up old chocha couldn’t keep a man like Johnnie satisfied.”

 

“She didn’t!” Bucky laughed.

 

“But wait,” Dewy beamed.

 

“Oh god,” Bucky rolled his eyes.

 

“While they were both shouting at each other, throwing their underwear around the shop, just as Caroline grabbed a pair of scissors and started chasing Penny all around the salon, they both realized that not all of the bras were theirs.”

 

“Noooo!” Bucky was practically bouncing in his seat, he was enjoying Dewy’s retelling so much.

 

“Yes! According to Gracie, it looks like good old Johnnie has been sleeping with every single one of the hairdressers who works in Sunset Waves, except for Gracie, and that’s probably because her wife would have beaten the crap out of him if he even looked at her funny.”

 

“Holy shit,” Bucky laughed, shaking his head.

 

“I know,” Dewy snickered. “Can you believe it?” At this, Bucky paused and leaned back in his chair.

 

“Actually, I can’t. I mean, the guy’s like what, four foot eleven?”

 

“And completely bald, except for his eyebrows, that look like a caterpillar died on his forehead,” Dewy added.

 

“Huh,” Bucky said, his own eyebrows furrowing. “Maybe that’s how he lures them in. He just stands behind his counter licking his eyebrows.”

 

“Ew Bucky, that’s disgusting.” Dewy said, and then froze, cocking her head slightly to the side.

 

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Bucky sing-songed.

 

“No,” Dewy said and then giggled. “Not really.”

 

“I mean, he’s short enough that if you put on a pair of your heels, you could just stand there and let him do all of the work.”

 

“Well,” Dewy said after a few seconds. “That wouldn’t be too bad. And he is bald, so I could rest my Coco Rico on the top of his head.”

 

Bucky made a gesture then, mimicking holding a can in his hand and pretending to lick its bottom, before he swung his arm down as if he was sticking it to a surface with a popping sound. Dewy’s eyes widened and then suddenly the two of them burst out laughing.

 

“What the hell is going on in our neighborhood?” was what Steve asked once he had overcome his shock and was finally able to form words.

 

Apparently, a lot. Sunset Park wasn’t the nicest or most well-to-do areas of Brooklyn, but its inhabitants had always been hard working. Like Bucky, he was careful to wear a baseball cap with its brim pulled low to avoid recognition, but everyone he encountered had been polite and friendly enough. But it quickly became obvious, as he listened to Dewy and Bucky converse, that he hadn’t been paying enough attention, because it seemed as if there their area was rife with infidelity, back-stabbing, ungrateful children and other assorted misadventures that their neighbors were involved in, and both Bucky and Dewy were aware of them all.

 

It also quickly became obvious, as Steve could do nothing but watch the back and forth between Dewy and Bucky like a spectator at a tennis match, that this was part of their rhythm, a dynamic they shared easily with one another, full of laughter, knowing glances and ribald banter. They didn’t even pause when Dewy shifted, moving Nina from her left breast to her right, while Bucky casually reached into the baby bag and handed her a white towel, as if this too was something they did every day. The only time there was a brief lull was when Nina finished her meal, and Bucky reached out to take her from Dewy so she could rest her arms. It was then Steve deliberately interrupted them for the first time.

 

“Can I – can I hold her?” he asked quietly. They glanced at him, before Dewy looked to Bucky with a question in her eyes.

 

“Can he?” she asked him.

 

“Dewy,” Bucky said, his voice more serious than it had sounded over the past hour. “Do you think I would ever bring anyone here that wasn’t absolutely trustworthy?”

 

“Oh Bucky, I know that,” she assured him with a light tap to his arm. “I just meant if he’s good with babies. You know how fussy she is.” Then she grinned. “And he has those huge arms, I don’t want him accidentally squashing her head like a melon.”

 

“I would never hurt her,” Steve defended himself, a bit hurt even if he knew she was only joking. But it was unnecessary, because just like always, when Bucky next spoke, it was to defend him.

 

“Dewy,” he said lowly, calmly, his words resonating with an absolute truth. “Steve is the kindest and gentlest man you will ever meet.”

 

“I was teasing you both Bucky,” Dewy assured him before she nodded at Steve. “Of course you can hold her Steve. But she _is_ fussy, and she doesn’t know you yet. So, don’t get upset if she starts to cry. She’s just a very particular young lady. ”

 

Bucky had already turned to him, his arms steady and secure as he held Nina out for him to take. Steve reached out carefully, oh so carefully, because this was another one of Bucky’s treasures, Dewy’s too, and the fact they were willing to share it with him was a great, great gift. The baby was soft and warm as Bucky handed her over, and as he inhaled deeply he realized she was the source of that soft scent of baby powder he had noticed clinging to Bucky’s skin, the goddaughter he had named after Steve’s mother, and obviously adored.

 

“Hey Nina,” Steve whispered quietly as he settled her in his arms, making sure to cradle her in the exact same position Bucky had. It was his first opportunity to get a good look at her, and he marveled at her pink cheeks, chubby little arms, crown of dark hair, and nearly black eyes as she blinked up at him.

 

Or at least he did until she scrunched up her face and began to wail.

 

“Okay, okay, not this time huh, Estrellita,” Bucky said, taking her back into his arms, making sure to rest her cheek against his shoulder, the plates coming to life with a soft hum. Steve couldn’t help but feel disheartened as she quickly settled in Bucky’s embrace while he rocked her gently back and forth.

 

“Don’t take it personally Steve,” Dewy assured him with a gentle stroke to his arm. “She really is a fussy little thing. She doesn’t even let my other daughters hold her. Just me, my mother and Bucky. Give her a little time to get used to you, and then you can hold her as much as you want.” Dewy glanced at Bucky and smiled. “Or at least as much as Bucky will let you.”

 

Steve heard her words, understood everything she was saying, but he really wasn’t paying attention. Because he was once more struck by a feeling both old and new, and it was his turn to be pulled back to a memory from their past, not one that had been lost, but forgotten to all that had happened since.

 

_Of sitting at another kitchen table in a small, rundown, but clean apartment, when his body had been smaller, so much smaller than it was now. And staring at another boy, with dark hair and blue eyes, who was also so much smaller than he was now, while he cradled his new born baby sister, born eight months after his father had died, against his shoulder, and crooned to the baby, Bucky’s youngest sister Brea, the exact same Gaelic lullaby that he now softly sung to Nina._

 

He wondered if Bucky even knew.

 

He had no idea how long he sat there, unable to do anything but stare, until Dewy once again gently stroked his arm, pulling him back into the present, and then handed him a napkin so he could wipe the tears he had not realized had fallen from his cheeks.  Her smile was both knowing and kind, as she lifted her phone and pointed it in Bucky’s direction.

 

“Really Dewy?” Bucky grumbled as soon as he heard the click indicating a picture had been taken. But he didn’t look up from Nina, nor did he stop rocking her.

 

“Really Bucky,” she answered. “It’s a beautiful moment. Let him have it.” In his pocket, Steve felt the vibration of his phone, letting him know Dewy had already sent him the picture.

 

***

 

They remained like that for not much longer, until Nina finally fell asleep, and Bucky transferred her back into her mother’s arms. They were rising from their chairs, saying their goodbyes for the evening, when Lulu once again appeared at the entryway to the back stairwell.

 

“I know it’s been a long day for you both,” she began as she came forward. “And I’m sure you have a lot of things Steve, that you need to ask Bucky about. But I need to talk to my son for just a few minutes before he goes home. Why don’t you go back to your house to wait for him. I promise I won’t keep him long.”

 

“Mami,” Bucky murmured under his breath.

 

“Hush Bucky, we need to talk,” Lulu told him, already ushering him back towards the stairs. “Good night Steve, I’ll see you soon.”

 

“Come on Steve,” Dewy said. “I’ll see you out.”

 

And then Bucky and Lulu were gone, and all Steve could do was follow Dewy as she led him outside.

 

***

 

There were two cups of steaming tea already waiting for them as Bucky followed Lulu into her kitchen, the air redolent with the scents of peppermint and honey.

 

“Sit.” It was the first word she had spoken since sending Steve home. And she said it in Spanish, their language, the language they had always spoken to each other when they were alone. She stood, patient as time, waiting until he sat himself down at her now familiar table, and cupped his hands around the grey clay mug that had somehow become his. She sat perpendicular to him, as she always did, cupping her own mug, staring at him in that way she had when he first walked into her restaurant, her focus narrow and keen, but which he now recognized was the mother in her, trying to determine the best way to start speaking to one of her children.

 

“So.” Her voice was somehow both cool and warm when she did finally speak. “You’re just going to give us away now are you? Somewhere in that thick head of yours, you’ve come to the conclusion that we’re not going to love you anymore because you’ve introduced us to Captain America, and that immediately makes him more important than you.”

 

“Not Captain America.” Bucky didn’t bother trying to deflect or deny. She knew him, almost as well as Steve did. And she would have her say, the truth she now spoke demanding his truth in return. “Stevie. And Stevie’s the best. He’s always been the best. And you, everyone, this whole family, you all deserve the best.”

 

“Are you not still part of this family?” she asked. Bucky couldn’t answer her so instead he looked away. Because he could already see it, in the way Dewy had smiled and laughed with Steve. How even Joey had started to snap and bite at Steve, testing him to see if he would bite back. Nina was still fussy, but she would take to him soon enough; Bucky knew from firsthand experience that there wasn’t any place in the world as safe and secure as Steve’s arms. Even Lulu had brought out her best dishes and cutlery, asking Steve what he thought of her cooking, smiling in delight each time he was unable to answer because his mouth was full of food. Of course they were all going to fall in love with him, bringing him into their tiny clan, so they could make him one of their own. Bucky could also see it in Steve’s eyes, how he was enchanted and had already decided to take them on, to shield and protect them in that way of his, that was his and his alone.

 

Bucky knew this was going to happen. They all deserved the best, had already done so much for him. It was the greatest gift he could give, releasing them from the clench of his heart, letting them all go so they could meet in the middle. His father had always told him that love was about sacrifice, doing what was right not for yourself, but for those around you, and that’s what made it worth it. He would heed his father’s lessons in this and do right by these people.

 

She was still staring at him, not bothering to sip from her own cup of tea, watching him carefully as he sat there until he eventually lifted his gaze to hers.

 

“Hmm,” she finally broke the silence with a hum. “Well, I can’t really tell you anything about him except what you’ve told me yourself and what I’ve read about him in school. From little I’ve seen of him tonight, he seems like a good man, if a bit on the quiet side.”

 

“Just give him a chance,” Bucky tried using humor to deflect her scrutiny. “His brain’s rebooting right now.”

 

She ignored his comment, resting her elbows on the table, her eyes intense as they met his.

 

“That may be true, but he isn't the man who became best friends with a little girl simply because she was lonely. And he's not the man who spends more time holding Nina than even I do, because he’s her tio, and the only one she’ll stop crying for. And he isn't the man who lets Dewy put her feet up in his lap so he can rub them at the end of a long day. Nor is he the man who loves to sit with me in my kitchen every afternoon so that we can just talk together and laugh about the latest telenovela we’re both watching.” She reached out, took the mug from Bucky’s hands, and wrapped her fingers around them.

 

“He may be a good man, a great man, but he is not the best man for this family,” she declared, tightening her hold. “He isn’t my son. That is you, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. And only you.”

 

Bucky froze, every single part of him, all he had once been, all he had been turned into, and all that he was now, locked into a stunned silence, while wisps of peppermint scented steam danced in the air around them.

 

“How long have you known?” he whispered.

 

“I figured it out tonight, when I saw who he was, and how the two of you looked when you stood side by side,” She kept her grip on his hands tight, as if she could see, feel for herself, the trembling in his bones that were already beginning to sing their siren’s call of _flee_ and _go_ and _run_. “I remembered the pictures in my history books, and suddenly it all made sense.” And then she smiled, as if soldiers coming back from the dead wasn’t some strange paradox of time, but happened every day.

 

“It’s all right Bucky, it’s all right. You’re still safe here, you will always be safe here, just like I promised you that first day we had tea together. I meant it then, and I mean it now.”

 

Bucky forced himself to swallow the dust and ice in his throat, and managed a small nod.

 

“Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers…I can see it, you know,” she said softly. “And when I think back to my textbooks, I think almost anyone would be able to, if they knew what to look for. The way the two of you stared at each other, even back then,” she continued gently. “And this, the two of you together like you are now…This has been a very long time coming, I think.”

 

“We couldn’t, back then.” Bucky’s voice sounded raspy, almost hopeless, when he was finally able to speak. “It wasn’t allowed. And he had someone else he loved with all of his heart.”

 

“Ah yes, Margaret Carter,” Lulu murmured. “That Peggy you mentioned once. But she’s gone now, and this is a different time. And I think, even back then, you were always the one he really wanted to be with.”

 

“I hope so,” Bucky admitted. “Because he’s always been the only one for me.”

 

“Then I'm very happy for you,” she said with a smile and another squeeze of his hands. “But you are still a part of this family Bucky. You will _always_ be a part of this family. Don’t ever forget that. Promise me you won’t.”

 

Bucky took a deep breath and swallowed, before he was able to look at her.

 

“I won’t.” She and her family were now one of his truths, just like Steve was and always had been. He could promise her this; it was such a small thing she was asking for, after everything she had done for him.

 

That truth must have been there in his eyes, because she studied him for a moment longer, before she smiled and nodded.

 

“Good,” she said, obviously satisfied. She let go of his hands, reaching up. Bucky thought she was going for his cheek, as she so often did.  But she stroked his hair instead, lifting and running her fingers through it, pushing it away from his face and back behind his ear. She tilted her head, her fingertips curling around a stray lock, which she studied carefully.

 

“It’s longer than it used to be,” were her words when she finally spoke. “But still very beautiful.”

 

Bucky snorted. “You’re always after me to cut it shorter.”

 

“That was before I knew who you were. And who you are now.” She continued to stare at it, spinning it gently in her hand. “It’s different, but I think this definitely suits you better.”

 

“Thank you, Mami.”

 

She nodded at him, letting go of his hair to finally cup his cheek, before she leaned forward and kissed his forehead.

 

“You believed it that time. Good.” She sat back down and picked up her tea. “Now go to your Stevie. He’s waiting for you at home.”

 

“He’s waiting right outside,” Bucky grumbled.

 

“Of course he is. I’ve only known that man for a few hours and even I can see he’s going to be bothering you all night with a million questions.”

 

“You have no idea,” Bucky said, finally taking a sip of his tea.

 

“He loves you Bucky, very, very much. You can see it in his eyes every time he looks at you.” She lifted a finger and waved it in front of her face. “They follow you everywhere you go. He looks at you just like my Tomas used to look at me, with a smile I don't think he's even aware of. Exactly like that.”

 

“Tomas?” Bucky’s brow furrowed at the unfamiliar name.

 

“My husband.”

 

“I thought Pepe was your husband, and that’s why you named the restaurant after him.”

 

“Ay no Bucky, Pepe was my dog, A nasty little bastard, even hornier than both Dewy and my husband combined. There wasn’t a hand he wouldn’t bite or leg he wouldn’t hump. But I loved that tiny sonovabitch with all of my heart, even more than my Tomas.”

 

Bucky burst out laughing. He couldn’t have stopped himself even if he wanted to.

 

***

 

Steve was indeed waiting for him when Bucky stepped outside with Lulu a little while later, her hand in his own. He was leaning back against a parked car with his arms crossed, not saying a word as he watched while Bucky used the set of keys Lulu had long ago given him to pull down and lock the security gates.

 

“It’s still sticking?” Bucky asked as he looked up at the metal façade, returning the keys to his pocket.

 

“A little bit,” she said.

 

“I’ll come take a look at it tomorrow.”

 

“Tomorrow we’re going to Costco. You can take a look at it on Wednesday,” she disagreed.

 

“I can do both, you know.”

 

“You can but you won’t,” she countered. “Groceries tomorrow, home repair on Wednesday.” He rolled his eyes at her. “Learn to let things go Bucky, you’ve got time now. Besides, you’re going to need your sleep, because I can guarantee you that your partner in crime is up in her room looking for everything there is to find about Captain America online instead of sleeping. And if you think she gave you hell today, just wait until she sees you tomorrow.”

 

“Oh god,” Bucky groaned, but he was already reaching out to take her into his arms. “What about Dewy?”

 

“She’s probably on her laptop Googling naked pictures of Captain America.” Behind them, Steve started to make a choking noise.

 

“I don’t even want to know.” Bucky allowed himself to melt in the endless, gentle warmth of her embrace.

 

“But she’s going to tell you anyway, probably in excruciating detail,” Lulu laughed against his cheek, before she kissed it gently and let him go. If anything, the noises Steve was making got even louder. “Good night mijo. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

“Night Mami,” Bucky said and stepped away.

 

“Good night Steven,” she called over his shoulder.

 

“Night Lulu,” Steve wheezed. When they both turned to look at him, he was pounding his own chest with an open hand. Lulu laughed one last time, the sound and her smile making her look twenty years younger. And then she spun around and walked back through her front door. Bucky watched from the sidewalk, waiting until he heard the click of the lock turning and saw the hallway lights shut off, shaking his head once, before he took a deep breath and finally faced Steve.

 

Steve had stopped choking on his own spit and was meeting his gaze head on. He didn’t say a word, just stared at Bucky, the questions and emotions in his eyes, millions of them, swirling in their blue like the flakes in a snow globe. Bucky sighed, shook his head again, dug his hands into his jean pockets, and with hunched shoulders began to head back to their row house.

 

“How mad at me are you right now?” he asked after a few steps, Steve silently falling into pace at his side.

 

“I’m not mad Bucky,” Steve said quietly. “I just don’t understand why you didn’t tell me.” When Bucky glanced over at Steve, he could see the confusion and hurt, plain as day, there in Steve’s expression.

 

“Dunno,” he shrugged.

 

“Don’t gimme that Buck,” Steve countered. “You always got a reason for everything you do. I just don’t get why you didn’t say anything. Did you think I wouldn’t like them? They’re amazing Bucky, and they’re obviously crazy about you.”

 

“They’re a great family.”

 

“They are,” Steve easily agreed. “And they’re _yours._ But this is a pretty big fucking deal, and I just don’t get why you kept it a secret for so long. Don’t you trust me?”

 

“Of course I do Stevie, I trust you more than anyone.” Bucky made sure to meet Steve’s gaze as he spoke, wanting Steve to see the truth of his words in his eyes.

 

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” Steve asked again. And here Bucky’s words and even his truths failed him. Because he couldn’t give voice to how a chance encounter had planted a seed in a garden he didn’t even know he had, taking root and fostering his heart, while Steve had so carefully tended to his soils. He wondered, if knowing what he did now, would he have done anything differently, and was disappointed in himself when he had to admit that he probably wouldn’t.

 

“I meant to tell you,” he said eventually. “And they wanted to meet you too. But it kept building up in my head until it became bigger and bigger, and then, I dunno. It became too big of a thing and I didn’t even know where to start.”

 

“A _hey Stevie, why don’t you come and meet my family_ would have probably worked,” Steve cut in. He was upset, but not mad. That was something, but it was already too much, and Bucky couldn’t even begin to guess how he was going to fix it.

 

“Probably,” Bucky agreed. “I was going to invite you to Nina’s christening, but that was the week-end Wilson needed your support, and I didn’t want to lay that on you then. And then afterwards there was all of my other shit we had to deal with, and then it was me and you finally, and by then I just couldn’t figure it out.” As soon as he finished, Bucky realized that Steve was no longer at his side. He stopped and turned around to see Steve standing a few paces back, his eyes wide and his hands hanging uselessly at his sides. “Steve?”

 

“You named her after my mother,” he whispered. Bucky retraced his steps until he was directly in front of Steve, meeting his gaze.

 

“I did.”

 

It was Steve’s turn to close his eyes and shake his head. “Bucky,” his voice trembled when he spoke. “You have a mother and a sister and a-a-Joey, and a beautiful baby goddaughter that you named after my mother, and you never said anything. We’ve always shared everything, _everything_ Bucky, and I just don’t get why you didn’t want to share this with me as well.” And there it was, the crack in Steve’s shell. Not the howling of his heart, but its weeping-

 

“Hey, hey, hey Stevie.” Bucky reached out and was thankful when Steve allowed him to pull him into his arms. “I’m so sorry okay. You’re right, I should have told you, I should have told you a lot sooner,” he whispered into his ear. “But I’m a selfish fuck sometimes.”

 

“No Bucky, you’re not.” Bucky was so grateful when he felt Steve return his embrace.

 

“Yeah Stevie, I am,” Bucky said, as he pressed a kiss to Steve’s temple. “But I never, ever want to hurt you Stevie, _ever_. But it really did become too big of a thing, and I had no idea how to even bring it up.”

 

“Your biggest problem Buck, is that you’ve always tried to handle everything on your own.” Steve stepped out of his arms to stare at Bucky. “You never think to talk about things or ask for help when you need it until it’s too late, and by then it’s usually a huge fucking mess. You did it before, when we were growing up. And you sure as shit did it during the war. I just thought we were past that by now.”

 

“You’re one to talk,” Bucky grumbled. But he didn’t move.

 

“Yeah Bucky, I am. Because the difference between me and you is that I always remember that I’ve got this guy who’s been watching my back ever since we were kids. He can be a bit of a secretive asshole sometimes, and has a habit of worrying about the wrong things, like thinking the person who loves him more than anything in the world would ever try to steal something from him when that’s the _last thing_ he would ever do,” Steve reached out and playfully shoved at the side of Bucky’s head, while his words cut to the core of so many of Bucky's fears. Cut into them, but then (and Bucky didn't know why he was surprised) released them. Because this man had known him, had always known him, oftentimes better than Bucky even knew himself. "But he’s always been there for me, and he never, ever lets me forget that.” Steve shook his head, turned and resumed walking down the street. “I guess I need to start doing a better job reminding him that it’s the same for him.”

 

“He knows Stevie,” Bucky said, falling into place at Steve’s left side. He reached out with his right hand and took Steve’s into his own, grateful, so damned grateful that Steve let him. “Doesn’t mean he’s still not an asshole sometimes.”

 

“Just my luck huh?” Steve muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

 

“But he loves you, with all of his heart.” Bucky squeezed Steve’s hand. “Always has.”

 

“Right back atcha.”

 

“And I am sorry Steve. You’re right, you all were. I should have said something sooner.”

 

“Yeah well, you didn’t. It’s gonna take a little bit of getting used to, but that’s okay.” To prove his point, Steve leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to Bucky’s cheek. “We’re good.”

 

They continued walking, hand in hand along Fourth Avenue, until they turned down 52nd Street and made their way toward the row house.

 

“A goddaughter,” Steve finally said with a small laugh and a shake of his head. “She’s gorgeous Buck.”

 

“I know.” Bucky couldn’t help but smile.

 

“Nina Sarah Rodriguez,” Steve’s voice was twinkling with awe just like the stars twinkled in the sky above them. “You wore a suit and everything.”

 

“Saw the pictures already, did you?”

 

“Dewy sent me a bunch of them.”

 

“Oh god.” Bucky rolled his eyes. “This is why I didn’t want any of you to meet.”

 

“Too late now,” Steve said. “Besides, it was a really nice suit.”

 

“I can’t believe they made me wear that thing.”

 

“Oh shut up.” It was Steve’s turn to roll his eyes. “You always wore a suit better than anyone else and you know it.”

 

“Ha!”

 

“Jerk.”

 

“Punk.” But then Bucky paused in their steps, pulling on Steve’s hand so that they were facing each other. “Anyway, I know you’ve been wondering about who I’ve been talking or texting on my phone to, and now you know. You ain’t got nothing to be jealous over.”

 

“I wasn’t jealous.”

 

“Uh-huh. I mean, they are all more beautiful than you –“

 

“Obviously.”

 

“But I’ve always been a one man kinda guy. And the man I got right now, he’s pretty fucking great.” Bucky let go of Steve’s hand, reaching for the chain with his key on it as he started to climb the steps to their home.

 

“Oh is he?” Steve asked from behind him.

 

“Yep.” Bucky turned and did a quick scan of the street, before he slid the key into the lock. “Especially since he’s letting me use the SUV tomorrow while he visits his teammates.” Bucky stepped into the foyer and cocked his head to the side. Around him the house was quiet, still, exactly the same as it had been when they left it. Steve waited for Bucky to nod before he followed him inside, brushing past him before he glanced at Bucky over his shoulder on his way to the stairs.

 

“Oh, is that what I’m doing tomorrow?” he called.

 

“Isn’t it?” Bucky asked, already dreading the answer. Because he knew that tone in Steve’s voice, recognized the gleam in his eyes.

 

“No Buck, it’s not.”

 

“What are you doing then?” Bucky sighed.

 

“I’m going with you and Lulu to Costco.”

 

Of course he was.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know, at this point Steve is still gob-smacked, Bucky just wants some damned Thin Mints, Lulu is starting to think that there are TWO boys she's going to have to take care of, Joey is trying to figure out how she and Bucky can still take over the world now that Captain Busy-Body is on the scene, and Dewy...Well, Dewy is Googling Captain America nekkid to see what images pop up. XD 
> 
> On a more serious note, this was a bit of a long chapter (even for me) but everyone was so encouraging and excited about Steve finally meeting Bucky's family in the comments for the last chapter that I wanted to give you all a bit of a treat. Also, and I hate to say this, but it looks like my posting schedule is going to change for the next few weeks. I have family coming to stay with me for the holidays, which means I'm not going to have the same amount of time to get chapters ready for posting. I'm going to try to keep posting at least one update per week but I can't make any promises at this point and I wanted to let you all know. But don't worry; there are still plenty of adventures in store for our boys, and I promise to do my best to keep to as regular a posting schedule as possible. Bucky and Steve would kill me if I did any less. **wink** 
> 
> And as you all know, comments make me sing and want to share ALL the cookies. =)


	17. Weaving

It was another shift in their lives, yet another change. But like so many of them, and especially the ones lately, it was a blessing, a gift, a grace.

 

They spent the night curled around each other, Steve asking question after question, while Bucky whispered honest answers against his skin, and showed him picture after picture of Nina on his phone. The next day they drove Steve’s SUV back to the brown row house on the corner of 54th Street so they could spend the morning shopping for groceries and supplies at Costco.

 

There was more of the orchestrated chaos from last night, as both Joey and Dewy, Nina carefully being carried in a small car seat, followed the family matriarch and climbed into Steve’s truck. There was also a bit of cursing, a hissed “Are you fucking kidding me Bucky?” from Joey, to which an obviously confused Dewy asked, “What? What are you upset about this time?”

 

“Did you even do any research last night on your computer, tia, or were you too busy looking for Captain America fanfiction?” Joey spat from the back row of seats where she was sitting.

 

Dewy’s casual, “I’ll have you know I was looking for Captain America porn,” had Steve choking on his own spit for the second time in less than twelve hours.

 

“Well, look up the Howling Commandos and you’ll see exactly what I’m upset about.”

 

“Oh god,” Bucky groaned from the front seat, pulling away from the curb while Dewy started typing into her cell. Steve watched as she scrolled through whatever results she found, seeing the exact moment she discovered what Joey had, using her fingers to zoom in on a particular photo that caught her eye. Her mouth dropped open, and she blinked several times, glancing from her screen to the back of Bucky’s head and then back down. Steve was mentally preparing himself for another outburst, when Dewy closed her mouth and made a small humming sound.

 

“That was a really great jacket Bucky. I bet your ass looked fantastic in that. Do you still have it?” she asked.

 

“I fucking loved that jacket,” Bucky said while in the front seat next to him Lulu rolled her eyes.

 

“Really?” Joey interrupted. “You just found out Bucky’s over a hundred years old and all you care about is a stupid jacket?”

 

“It’s a really great jacket.” Dewy turned to Steve. “How the hell were you not jumping him all the time while he was wearing that jacket?”

 

“Nazis.” Steve shrugged at the same time Bucky chimed in with, “Peggy Carter.”

 

“That would do it,” Lulu agreed.

 

“I dunno. It’s a fantastic jacket,” Dewy persisted.

 

“It was a very nice jacket Bucky,” Lulu told him.

 

“Who the hell is Peggy Carter?” Dewy went back to typing on her phone.

 

“The founder of SHIELD,” Joey said. “And the cockblocker who stole Bucky’s man.”

 

“Hey!” Steve cried.

 

“I dunno. She’s pretty, but Bucky definitely has the better ass. Especially in that jacket,” Dewy declared.

 

“I fucking loved that jacket.”

 

***

 

They spent the next two hours in Costco, filling three carts with food and supplies, the contents of one which would be heading home with Bucky and Steve, since Lulu had an extra membership card which she’d given to Bucky for him to use. So stocked with cookies, canned goods, diapers, three forty pound bags of rice, and more toilet paper and paper towels than Steve had ever seen in one place before, they loaded up Steve’s SUV and drove back to 54th Street.

 

“You don’t have to stick around Stevie,” Bucky told him, as he easily hefted all three bags of rice over his shoulder and made his way to the front steps. “We can take it from here.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous mijo, he’s going to join us for lunch,” Lulu called from where she was holding the front door open.

 

“Yeah Bucky, don’t be ridiculous,” Steve said, lifting the plastic wrapped pallet of canned juice from the back of the SUV. “I’m joining you and your family for lunch.”

 

He didn’t say much, deciding instead to watch and absorb, paying careful attention to all of the Rodriguezes, and especially Bucky, observing how they all interacted. He didn’t know these people, not yet, but they were Bucky’s family and he wanted to make sure he understood their dynamic. He didn’t want to interfere, or make Bucky feel as if he was trying to take control of something that wasn’t his to take. But he did want to understand, needed to actually, so that he could find his own way to make himself fit, and be invited into this clan that was warm and generous, yet very protective of their own.

 

The ease with which they all interacted surprised him at first, especially Bucky. He was loose and carefree in a way Steve had not seen him be with anyone but him. He was obviously comfortable in their house, as he helped to put all of the groceries and supplies away without having to ask where anything went. He joked with Dewy, listened to everything Joey had to say, and always checked in with Lulu to see if there was anything else she needed. He held Nina in his arms while they ate lunch, humming quietly to her whenever she cooed, talked about books with Joey, shared gossip with Dewy, all of the while smiling at Steve, looking at him every so often to make sure Steve was okay. So Steve just sat and watched and studied.

 

The only time Steve did speak up was when, during a lull in the conversation (which seldom happened), he asked all of them to not let anyone know what they all had just discovered about Bucky and who he really was. There was still a risk, there would probably always be a risk, if anyone else ever really found out who he was. Bucky grew very still at that point, his eyes lowered, hiding behind his hair for the first time in weeks.

 

“We’re not stupid you know.” It was Joey who cut through the quiet. “We know he was a prisoner of war. He told us that.”

 

“Just not World War Two,” Dewy said.

 

“Who would? He doesn’t look a day over twenty five,” Lulu chimed in.

 

“Neither do you.” Dewy looked at Steve as she spoke. “Seriously, what the hell is your secret?”

 

“Ice,” Bucky finally spoke.

 

“Really?” Joey asked.

 

“You don’t want to know Joey,” Bucky said to her. “And don’t ask, because that’s not something I’m ever going to tell you about.”

 

Steve watched as Joey stared at him, a small furrow in her brow, before something in her released and she nodded. And then to his astonishment, this young woman who had been nothing but hisses and spits, transformed into something soft and gentle.

 

“Okay Bucky,” she said quietly. And then she reached out and took his metal hand into her own, holding on to it tightly, and not letting go once for the rest of their meal.

 

“Don’t worry Steve,” Dewy interrupted, pulling Steve’s attention away from the strange yet softly intimate tableau across the table from him. “I said this to Bucky the very first day we met. We’re a nosy bunch, but we know how to protect our own.”

 

“Thank you,” Steve nodded and went back to his meal.

 

They really were an extraordinary family of women, and Steve’s impression of them did not change the more time he spent in their company.

 

He came back with Bucky the next day, and spent an hour with him looking over the security gate of the restaurant, trying to determine why it kept getting stuck. They discovered the cause when they found a pigeon carcass in the upper gears that they had to spend the next forty minutes removing, while Joey stood and watched, making gagging noises. It was disgusting work, but they had both dealt with much worse in their past, and they managed to clean it out easily enough.

 

He didn’t join Bucky when he drove both Dewy and Nina to her next pediatrician’s appointment, but he did accept the invite to dinner Bucky texted him.

 

The day after that, he came back to help Bucky install childproof gates in all the windows in the brownstone, because Nina would be walking before they knew it, and her safety was of paramount importance to them all. It was an easy enough way to spend an afternoon, doing home repair he was already well familiar with, while Joey followed them from room to room and Bucky showed her how to use a power drill. He again joined them for dinner that evening, but this time it was at Lulu’s kitchen table, instead of in the private room at the back of the restaurant.

 

He started coming back again and again. Not every day, because he still needed to check in and visit and strategize with his fellow Avengers. And he knew that Bucky needed to spend time on his own with his family. But as the days turned into weeks, and July rolled over into August, he got to know these people, and they him. Not just as Captain America, or even Bucky’s Stevie, but as Steve, both with and without Bucky, and they made sure to let him know he was as welcome and wanted in their home as Bucky was.

 

Especially one day, two weeks in, when Bucky carefully placed his goddaughter into Steve’s arms. Nina didn’t cry, just blinked and then gurgled, before she reached up to grab his nose with drool covered fingers.

 

The picture Dewy took of that moment ended up being the new wallpaper on Bucky’s phone.

 

 

***

 

So they did what they had both always been very good at, and adjusted.  Steve made even further changes to his life, and reduced his visits to the Avengers Tower to only three days a week. He made sure to Skype in on the days he wasn’t there, and he always visited in person when he knew Sam would be up from DC. But every single one of his teammates had their own passions and other interests, and remembering what Bucky had told him that day in the basement, Steve decided he had a right to his own life and that there were other things he could focus on besides being Captain America.

 

It didn’t diminish his determination or his focus in the least. In truth, it only made him stronger. Because he had more resources now and a deeper well to pull from, a reminder of the things he had always believed in, and why he had always believed in them as strongly as he did. But even Captain America needed to replenish his energies, and it was easier now than ever before.

 

There was the work they were doing on the house, more slow going than previously, but just as rewarding. They had finally come to compromise on the back lot (with Lulu’s input) where they tiled half of the space, setting up a table and chairs, and two hammocks Bucky had wanted (they ended up only using one, where they would curl up together during the warm summer nights, whispering to each other while they watched the stars). They forwent the grill, since Bucky was the one who did most of the cooking and he was perfectly happy with their kitchen stove, and transformed the other half into Bucky’s dreamed of garden, where they carefully arranged pots of perennials and summer blossoms and even a few tomato plants; Bucky loved being able to pick fresh tomatoes from their garden.

 

They still trained together a couple of times a week, pushing and challenging each other until they ended up in a sweaty heap on the floor (sometimes with, and sometimes without their clothes on.) They continued to run every day, always at a different time, because there were still some things Bucky absolutely needed to feel safe, and unpredictability was one of them.

 

But they went to Lulu’s house nearly every day. Bucky and Joey needed to take their walks, and watch their anime together and discuss books while they planned to take over the world. She still huffed and hissed a bit at him, but even that changed, ever since the day, three weeks in when Steve decided to accompany them one on of their walks, and they stopped at a small café that served something Steve discovered was called bubble tea, and she insisted he try the matcha flavored one.

 

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Josie,” he muttered out of the corner of his mouth. “I know it’s going to taste like shit, and you just want to see the look on my face when I drink it so you can laugh about it behind my back. I’m getting mango, just like you.”

 

She made a sound that was a mix between a squawk and a bark, grinning wide enough to reveal a crooked tooth. Steve had just realized it was her laugh, before she stopped and squinted at him.

 

“I guess Josie’s okay,” she finally said. “You can call me that.” And then she turned with a little huff, and looked up at the order board. “But I would get strawberry if I were you. It’s the best.”

 

Next to him, Bucky gently nudged his shoulder. “Finally figured it out, did you?”

 

Steve winked at him, and the three of them spent the rest of the afternoon arguing over which flavor was best. Bucky and his decision to order coconut ended up winning that debate.

 

They were never going to be as close and she and Bucky were. But she had finally admitted that she liked him, especially when Steve kicked both of their asses during a game of Mario Kart.

 

Afternoons were Joey’s time, but most of their evenings were spent in the little room of the back of Casita Pepe, where they all ate dinner or talked about their day, until Lulu retired for the evening, usually dragging a complaining Joey with her. Then Dewy would settle in for the night, her feet in Bucky’s lap, while Steve and Bucky took turns cradling Nina, until she would start to fuss and whoever was holding her at that moment would hand her back to her mother so she could breastfeed, while they gossiped about their neighborhood.

 

Steve didn’t have much to contribute at first; Bucky had always been the one who knew how to listen and pay attention to all of the goings on around him, gathering information and intel in a way even Natasha would have to respect. But he did listen and he did learn, and he laughed along with the both of them about the shenanigans in their neighborhood.

 

Until one day, after Dewy had finished telling them all about the messy divorce the woman who managed her favorite shoe store was going through, (she owned more shoes than anyone Steve had ever known, even if he had to agree with Bucky and admit that most of them were fantastic), and he looked down at Nina asleep in his arms, and said, “So you’re never going to believe what I heard from Vito today.”

 

“Who’s Vito?” Dewy said.

 

“The guy that owns the sub shop over on Ninth?” Bucky asked.

 

“Yep.”

 

“You been holding out on us Stevie?”

 

“Come on, dish,” Dewy said leaning forward.

 

“Guess who came waltzing into his store the other day,” Steve began.

 

“Who?”

 

“Good old Johnnie,” Steve’s smile was smug. “And you’ll never believe who he was holding hands with.”

 

***

 

Just like with Joey, there was rhythm to Dewy and steps to a dance Steve had to learn. She was the first one to truly embrace his presence in their lives, and the easiest out of all of them to get along with. Steve followed Bucky’s lead, and just accepted her the way she was. She was funny, frank, and down to earth. She would have made any of the Howlies blush back in the day, but that was just a part of what made her such wonderful company to be in.

 

But Steve still knew Bucky better than anyone else, so he watched and absorbed and followed all of the tiny cues Bucky left for him to trace. He was as protective of her as he was of Joey, and it took Dewy a bit of time to understand what that meant to two men who had grown up in the thirties and forties, and had definite ideas about how they treated their family members as a result.

 

“Did you drop off the deposits yet?” Bucky would always ask her on Monday and Thursday evenings, when he made sure to show up just a little bit earlier than usual for dinner.

 

“No, I just finished updating the databases. I’ll do it later,” was her usual response.

 

“Dewy,” Bucky would counter.

 

“I’ve been doing this for years before I even knew you, Bucky. I can handle it on my own. And I’m not pregnant anymore, so leave it.”

 

“Dewy,” it was Steve’s turn to interject. “You’re carrying thousands of dollars on you and it’s getting late. Let one of us walk you. You’re going to end up giving Bucky an ulcer if you don’t.”

 

“Seriously,” Bucky grumbled.

 

“I’ll be fine,” Dewy argued.

 

“Don’t be stupid hija,” Lulu called from the doorway. “They’re right. You’re carrying a lot of money and you’ve got Captain America and Sergeant Bucky Barnes willing to walk with you. What other woman in the world can say she’s got those two as her own security team? I’ll watch Nina while you’re gone.”

 

“All right fine,” Dewy always huffed, but there was usually a little smile on her face as she did. “Let me get the deposit bags. I’ll be right back.”

 

“Thank you,” Lulu said. “I used to worry all the time, but I feel better now knowing at least one of you will be with her.”

 

“Of course Mami,” Bucky answered while beside him Steve nodded.

 

So they would go out and walk with Dewy while she made the deposits at her clients' banks, and on the way she would point out every store, and inform Steve of who the owner was and what the employees within were up to. By the time they came back, Lulu made sure to feed the both of them their favorite food; it was usually pork chops for Bucky. But Steve had his own favorites now; pastelon and sancocho were always welcome, but there was also mofongo with shrimp (instead of pork, the way Bucky preferred it), and Lulu always smiled when she placed a bowl of it in front of him.

 

It was Bucky who called Lulu Mami, always full of love and respect. And Steve could see why. She never quite became Steve’s mother, but in her own unique way, she began to mother him as well. She always greeted him warmly whenever he showed up at her restaurant or on her doorstep with Bucky, or even when he arrived on his own after returning from Avengers Tower. After she offered him her cheek to kiss, she would usher him to her table, where everyone else was already assembled, waiting for Steve before they began to eat. If Bucky wasn’t there because he was out with Dewy or Joey, or running an errand for the family, she would invite him to her table, where she would serve him a cup of coffee and chat with him about this or that. Sometimes it was about his day, other times it was about whatever struck her fancy. And other times, she would sit and ask him about his life, not his work or the adventures of Captain America, but of all the other little things that colored a person’s soul, and asking, like no one but Bucky and Sam ever asked, how he was really doing.

 

As Steve spent time sitting with her in her warm and sunlight kissed kitchen, he was reminded of all of the women he had known growing up, the mothers from his childhood. There was something so self-determined within her, a resonance to her so similar that he could almost see her standing leaning from the windows and hanging her clothes to dry while she kept a sharp eye on all the children in the neighborhood. Strong and fiercely independent, yet absolutely devoted to her family. She was that combination of velvet covered steel whose outward softness made it so easy to overlook the strength within. Difficult to impress, but kind and generous once she did decide to welcome Steve to her table. Cunning too. She asked him questions about himself and how the house was coming along, peppering her words with sometimes sly observations or crude humor (which Steve had to admit caught him off guard at first), but using her words and her cooking to ultimately get the answers she was seeking. As a result, after Bucky, she ended up knowing more than anyone else about how Steve had struggled, still sometimes struggled with all of the changes to the world since he had been pulled from the ice. How much he loved doing what he did, fighting, always fighting for the little guy, but it could be tiring, because it never seemed to end, and the battles were even larger now than ever before. How he ached and worried and felt tremendous guilt over everything Bucky had been through, knowing that it wasn’t enough, that it would never be enough, no matter how many times Bucky assured him that it was, that it was beyond even that. How he had loved Bucky before he even understood what it meant to love someone who wasn’t family, had always loved him like that, and would sacrifice everything he had and was if it meant Bucky would always be there when he got home, with open arms and a smile, just for Steve, that lit up any and all the skies, no matter how dark.

 

She sat, and she listened, and she fed him her food, while letting him talk. She never contradicted him, nor did she try to fix anything. She simply let him say what he needed to say, her deep, dark eyes calm and understanding. Whenever Steve was done, she would pour him another cup of coffee, then pat his hand as she slid over a plate of dulce de coco, while thinking on her words.

 

“But you have each other now,” was usually how she began. “And that kind of love, it’s very rare. I’m a grandmother Steven, and I’ve seen a lot of things in my life, but I’ve never seen anyone love each other the way the two of you do.” She tended to cup Bucky’s cheek when she was saying something she wanted to make sure he understood; with Steve, she would reach out and hold his hand. “And it doesn’t fix everything. Even love can’t fix everything. But it makes it better, gives you the sweet to balance the bitter. But the two of you, and what you have, that’s very rare.” She smiled at him. “But you’re both part of this family – yes, Steve, you too – and that’s just as important. You’re not alone, neither of you, and you both need to remember that.”

 

Steve understood then, how this woman with her dark eyes and softly spoken words had been able to lure Bucky in. She had invited him to her table, until with both food and compassion she hadn’t tamed him (Bucky was too wild, he had always been and would always be too wild for anyone to tame), but convinced him to stay. Her very own stray cat that now brought its friend along with him to share her warmth and kindness.

 

“Thank you,” was all Steve could say to that. She waved the sentiment away with her hand.

 

“Now Bucky and Josefina should be back any minute, and I need to start cooking dinner. What do you think? Should I tell him I gave you the last pork chop for lunch?” She smiled at him.

 

“I thought you liked me Lulu. If you tell him that, he’s going to lock me out of the house.”

 

“Oh please. Everybody knows he would just shoot you instead. And then Josefina would help him hide the body.”

 

Steve didn’t even bother trying to deny it, and they ended up having arroz con pollo and tostones for dinner instead.

 

***

 

But her words were true. They were a family, and they made room in their lives and their hearts for Steve. At first because he was Bucky’s, and Bucky was one of their own, and they would love who he loved. And then, simply because he was Steve, and they loved him for who he was.

 

It was strange at first, Steve had to admit. Blissful and beautiful, but strange. It had been so long since Steve had a family, and he needed to relearn all of the things that had been eclipsed by war, absence and time. There’d been the Howlies, a bond of brotherhood and comrades in arms. Only someone who lived through the things they’d lived through together would have been able to understand. And now Steve had his current teammates, the Avengers, who were the best people in the world, both as fellow warriors and friends, and Steve would do anything, _anything_ for any of them. Families, both of them, and Steve would forever be grateful for their presence in his life, then and now.

 

But this, this little cluster of women who lived in a corner brownstone in Sunset Park, Brooklyn; this was a mother and a sister and a niece and a baby, that clucked and fussed and nurtured each other. It was Sunday dinners together, sharing gossip, and making sure that no matter what, Nina always got what she needed. Trips to the pediatrician, telenovela marathons, and doing home repair on another house, because the bookshelves in the living room where old and warped, and instead of fixing them, Bucky and Steve decided to build Lulu new ones. It was biweekly trips to Costco, walks with Dewy on Monday and Thursday nights, and being introduced to anime, while Joey and Bucky argued over which series or film to show Steve next. Cups of coffee and peppermint tea and afternoons spent in a kitchen talking to a woman who loved her family with her cooking and her generosity and her wisdom. It was being invited into a clan and warmly welcomed, their only complaint was that Steve needed to learn how to speak Spanish.

 

It was giving support and help and a shoulder to lean on when it was needed. But also the surprise of discovering that same support and help and shoulder were just as easily returned. Given so easily and with so much grace, the true power of family, and one neither him nor Bucky would ever take for granted.

 

Like the day Steve had been at the Tower and Bucky had a flashback.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to take a moment here to thank everyone for all the wonderful comments on last week's chapter. Seriously, the way everyone has embraced the Rodriguez women and their role in Bucky's life (and now Steve's) has been both humbling and heartwarming. Lulu is so grateful she says you're all welcome at Casita Pepe anytime, where she promises make you anything you want. Bucky agrees, as long as you stay away from his pork chops. XD 
> 
> Seriously, thank you for all of the amazing comments. And if I don't get a chance to say it before then, I wish you all a wonderful holiday, no matter how you celebrate it. <3 <3 <3


	18. Silk

Steve had been spending a lot of his time over the past week at the Tower. There were whispers, quiet buzzes traversing their information networks, that an organization was preparing for a political strike somewhere in Eastern Europe. They had no idea if it was HYDRA or some other syndicate coming to the fore, but the chatter and data they received was worrying. It was keeping Natasha offsite as she tried to unearth what intel she could, and he knew both Maria and Nick (wherever in the world he had holed himself up) were doing their best to follow through on any and all leads they uncovered. As of yet, there was nothing concrete to go on, just rumors and buzzwords that let the team know they needed to be prepared to assemble at a second’s notice. So they spent all of that morning and most of the early afternoon fine tuning their plans, making sure every possible angle and contingency had been accounted for. But they had been doing the same thing for over a week, and there was nothing new for them to go over. So after a long, grueling and frustrating morning, they decided to call it a day, and finally break for lunch. It was frustrating, Steve could readily admit to that, but what people didn’t realize was that this was what most of their work consisted of. Training and preparing and making plans for events that hopefully never came to pass. Be prepared to be needed, but hope that need never actually materialized.

 

Steve was just leaving the conference room with the rest of his teammates when his cell rang. Glancing down, he saw Dewy’s number flashing on his screen.

 

“Hey, what’s up?” Steve asked as he connected the call.

 

“Hey, Steve.” Her voice was quiet, deliberately subdued over the line when she was usually all exuberant energy and laughter. “I know you’re at work, and I’m sorry to bother you, but Bucky’s having a bad day.”

 

“How bad?” Steve immediately stopped walking and turned all his attention to this suddenly very important phone call.

 

“Pretty bad. He showed up at the house pale and shaking.” There was the sound of muffled voices in the background, one male and weak, but complaining, and another female and strong, steady as Steve heard Lulu urging Bucky to lie back down. “Shut up Bucky,” Dewy went on, but her voice was gentle as she spoke. “Of course I was going to call him. He’d want to know.”

 

“Damn straight I do,” Steve said. Ahead of him, his teammates were making their way toward the elevators, all except for Sam, who had noticed and was respecting Steve’s privacy, but standing guard in case he was needed. On the other end of the line, Dewy sighed.

 

“Bucky wants me to make sure I tell you that he’s fine, and you don’t have to come home,” she went on. “And he’s right, you don’t have to leave work. Don’t worry, he’s with us and we’re taking care of him. But I wanted to let you know so you won’t be surprised when you get back. Okay?”

 

“Don’t let him go anywhere. I’m on my way now.”

 

“I’ll see you soon then,” Dewy said, without the slightest bit of regret, disconnecting the call.

 

“Everything all right?” Sam asked as Steve pocketed his phone.

 

“I dunno, but I gotta go.” Steve made his own way over to the elevator bank, and entered the code for the ground floor instead of the private eating area. Because there may have been whispers and chatters and hints of a possible threat, but it was suddenly a lot less important. They weren’t Bucky, and no matter what anyone else may have thought or expected of him, there was nothing in the world, _in the entire goddamned motherfucking world,_ that would keep Steve from Bucky’s side when Bucky was in need. The rest of it could all go to hell.

 

“’Kay.” Sam nodded. “I’ll let everyone else know. Call me if you need anything.”

 

“Thanks Sam,” Steve said, and he meant it. But then the elevator doors were opening and Steve was already stepping inside, everything else from that morning completely forgotten as Steve decided on the quickest way to get back to Brooklyn.

 

When Steve knocked on Lulu’s door less than forty minutes later, it was Lulu herself who answered.

 

“How’s he doing?” Steve said as she let him into her apartment, realizing at the last second he was being rude. But if he was, she neither noticed nor cared as he stepped past her, only placed a hand on his arm to hold him in place.

 

“Not so good,” she told him. “He showed up about two hours ago, looking worse than I’ve seen him in a long time.”

 

“Has he eaten?” was Steve’s next question.

 

“No,” Lulu shook her head. “He doesn’t want to eat anything, and I’ve been trying to get him to drink some tea, but he can’t even hold that down.”

 

“He’s thrown up?”

 

“Three times,” Lulu said with a sad shake of her head. “The last time was right after Dewy called you. We finally got him to lie down on the couch, and Josefina’s with him now, but whatever this is, it’s bad.” She squeezed his arm one last time before she let go and stepped back. “I just wanted you to be prepared.”

 

“Thank you.” Remembering his manners, Steve pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. And then he sighed and made his way into the living room.

 

Bucky still had flashbacks and nightmares. It was rare now, so rare, but they did still happen. When they did, when something unremembered from his past rose up from his cracks and struck, it was always a brutal assault, pain and blood and screams unanswered in the dark, clawing itself free from a casket of ice. The darkest of memories, the worst of what he had been made to suffer, tortures that cut and branded his flesh, his brain, his very soul. Their devastation could last for days.

 

Shielded from the eye by the smooth moonlight of Bucky’s skin, skin that Steve had spent hours, days, weeks coming to know and explore, were deep gashes in his soul that needed the gentlest of care as it lanced itself, bleeding out of his mind and leaving him sometimes too weak to get out of bed. Until the puss could be carefully wiped away, and Bucky was finally ready for Steve to press ribbon after ribbon of kisses over the wounds. Prayers and whispers for healing, Steve’s ultimate oath to Bucky that he was not alone, would never be alone again, and that Steve was there to take care of him.

 

So Steve knew how to handle this, how to ease Bucky through it. He just hated that it was something he’d had to learn.

 

“Hey Buck,” Steve said softly as he knelt down on the floor in front of the couch where Bucky was lying. He had to be careful whenever they were like this, making sure he didn’t loom or stand too tall over Bucky. When Bucky felt at his weakest, sometimes Steve’s size overwhelmed him, and he would cringe away. He told Steve it was either cringe or strike out, and even at his darkest, when he was the most lost, something inside of Bucky, the deepest truth of his deepest core, never wanted to hurt Steve. So cringing it was. He always apologized to Steve for it afterwards, and Steve always waved it away. But for the first time in his life, Steve found himself sometimes wishing he had never taken Erskine’s serum, that he was still small, his shoulders still narrow, if it meant that Bucky would never be afraid.

 

“You didn’t have to come home Steve. I’m okay.” Bucky’s voice was a hard-fought for rasp, barely discernible in the late afternoon air. And it was obviously a lie. He wasn’t just pale, he was grey. His eyes were bloodshot, and his hands were trembling from where they were locked together beneath a blanket. His skin looked clammy and his hair was matted with sweat. Steve knew they were both going to be in for a rough couple of days. But…

 

But.

 

These women, _their_ _family_ , had done a good job. Bucky was lying on his back on the living room couch, and he was covered in both a warm blanket and a blue scarf from which the soft scent of Dewy’s perfume rose. The curtains were closed, the lights dimmed so there was no harsh brightness to cut against sensitive eyes. On the nearby coffee table there were two cups of peppermint tea, and a plate of saltines. Joey was sitting at the end of the couch, Bucky’s feet in her lap, her hand lightly resting on the top of his ankle, an unmoving presence to help ground Bucky in the here and now. Dewy was reading in the closest chair, not saying anything as she scrolled through her phone, but humming softly. And someone had carefully placed a damp washcloth over Bucky’s forehead, after brushing his hair back from his face. He looked bad, and Steve knew it was going to be rough, but Bucky had needed, and because Steve hadn’t been there, he’d gone to his family instead. They had taken care of him, done their best, and made sure he was comfortable before they had gone even beyond that, and called Steve to let him know what was going on.

 

“Yeah Buck, I did. You know I’m always going to come when you need me to.” It was the truth, and one Steve could easily admit, even out loud. Bucky came first, he would always come first, and if he needed something then Steve would move heaven and earth to make sure he would be able to give it to him. If it ever became a choice between the world and Bucky, well then the world could burn.

 

Steve lifted his hand and held it in Bucky’s line of sight. It was both a question and a request. Steve wanted to touch, to comfort, but only if it was okay with Bucky, something he too wanted to receive. Bucky glanced at his hand and nodded.

 

“How bad?” Steve whispered, running the back of his hand over Bucky’s cheek, his fingers through Bucky’s damp hair, while Dewy pretended not to watch. Lulu stepped into the room and tapped Joey on the shoulder, a silent command for her to leave her post and give them both their privacy.

 

“Thanks Joey,” Bucky rasped as Joey carefully placed his feet back on the couch. Steve had no idea what to expect from her, but she only looked at Bucky with a soft smile and nod, squeezing his ankle gently before she glanced at Steve, her eyes considering, and then followed her grandmother out of the room. “And it’s bad.” Bucky reached for Steve’s hand with his metal one, clenching it tightly.

 

“Okay,” Steve agreed as he lifted their hands and pressed a kiss to the back of Bucky’s. “What do you need right now?”

 

“Dunno.” Bucky wasn’t deflecting. Steve could see it; he was too raw, too weak to know what would help him. The question now became if there was enough left of him within to trust Steve enough to get him the help he needed.

 

“Do you need to go?” Steve hating asking; it was his least favorite question. But Bucky’s answer would be the best way to gauge how badly he was struggling. If he said yes, then Steve would have a better sense of how to prepare for the aftermath. However, to Steve’s great relief, Bucky shook his head. It was still bad, but not the worst it could be.

 

“Do you think you can eat something?” They both knew, had enough experience by now to know that this was the best thing Bucky could do to help restore his equilibrium. It could still be hit or miss, and sometimes Steve had to coerce Bucky into eating, in spite of the way his body rebelled at the idea.

 

“I don’t think I can hold anything down yet,” Bucky frowned, his cracking voice a mere shadow of its usual rasp.

 

“Can you try? Please Buck? For me?” Steve pressed another kiss to the back of Bucky hand, its metal icy cold against his lips. “Just a couple of crackers. You know it’ll help.”

 

“I just wanna go home Stevie,” Bucky finally admitted.

 

“Okay,” Steve agreed. “We’ll get you home, but I need you to eat something first. Just a few crackers Bucky, and a couple of sips of water and then I’ll take you home.” Bucky groaned and closed his eyes. Behind him, Steve heard Dewy getting up from her chair.

 

“If you give me your keys and tell me where the truck’s parked, I’ll go get it so you can drive him home,” she said softly from behind him. Steve dug his car keys out of his pocket with his free hand, giving her fingers a quick squeeze as he gave them over, while never letting go of Bucky’s left.

 

“Fourth and Forty-Ninth,” Steve told her.

 

“Got it.” She slipped the keys into her own pocket and then smiled down at Bucky. “Try to eat something Bucky. It’ll help, and then we’ll get you home.”

 

“You don’t have to do that Dewy,” Bucky countered, not wanting to ask, even though he needed.

 

“Of course I do Bucky, don’t be stupid.” And then she was gone, just like that.

 

It took some careful nudging, before Bucky could sit up. And then there was some more gentle, but insistent urging before Steve convinced Bucky to eat a handful of the crackers. It was touch and go for a bit, and at one point Bucky looked like he was going to vomit again, but the crackers stayed down. And so did the small bowl of white rice and half a cup of peppermint tea Lulu handed over a few minutes after that. Some of Bucky’s color had finally returned, but he still looked weak, fragile, as vulnerable as a newborn kitten as he sat on Lulu’s couch, hunched over, shivering in on himself.

 

Half an hour later, they were in Steve’s SUV, with Dewy driving and Steve in the back next to Bucky so he could keep an arm around his shoulders and make sure what little he had eaten stayed down. Five minutes after that, Steve was carefully leading Bucky up the steps to their row house and guiding him inside, after he turned and waved at Dewy, whose last words had been, “I’ll text you where I parked the truck. Feel better Bucky. We love you.” And then it was just him and Bucky, in their home, the shelter that together they had rebuilt, the only fortress strong enough to withstand one of Bucky’s storms.

 

Yet Steve had more experience than he’d had a year and a half ago. Lessons he had learned, skills he had adopted and refined to help not only Bucky, but the both of them, better deal with the aftermath of what Bucky had been through.

 

As bad as today was, and it was bad, it was by far from the worst of what they’d experienced as they worked through Bucky’s recovery. Whatever specter had risen to shriek in Bucky’s mind, it wasn’t bad enough that he needed to isolate himself from Steve. It was a careful dance, one of delicate steps, where Steve had to care and guide but not suffocate. As long as he was consistent, gentle, and always made his intentions clear, Bucky was usually willing to let him lead.

 

The first step was a shower, scalding hot, always scalding hot. Bucky refused Steve’s offer of help, but he did request that Steve remain in the room with him. Something about his presence and Steve’s promise to guard the door made Bucky feel safe. Sometimes Bucky scrubbed himself down furiously, sometimes he crouched as the base of the tub and curled into a ball, and sometimes he merely stood under the water, until the steady pressure was enough to clean away all the memories that were bleeding from his skin.

 

Then it was clothes. Always the softest of cottons, but the warmest things he owned. Clean underwear, sweatpants and thick socks. But not when it came to the shirt. He needed a shirt, or else he would end up shivering all night. But a clean one, no. Bucky always asked for one of Steve’s. One that hadn’t been washed yet, because the scent of Steve on his skin, around his body, was one of Bucky’s safe spaces. And in this stage of their lives, with their newfound intimacy, it was one of two things that always helped the most.

 

After that, Steve led him down to the living room and into the Lay-Z-Boy, where he tucked Bucky in and went back into the kitchen to get him some food. He had kept down the crackers and rice, and Lulu had sent them home with some plain, grilled chicken. Steve piled it into a sandwich and then handed it to Bucky, while he ate the bowl of arroz con pollo Lulu prepared specifically for him.

 

Once the meal was finished, if Bucky managed to keep it down, Steve gathered their plates and dropped them off in the kitchen. He then made a quick trip upstairs and into their bathroom. When he returned, it was with the final item he would need for the last thing he could do that would help Bucky settle back into his own skin.

 

Because it seemed as if Steve’s fascination with Bucky’s hair had a benefit that neither of them could have predicted, yet for some reason worked better than anything else.

 

Steve brushing Bucky’s hair.

 

It could still be hit or miss as to whether Bucky would let him. More than anything, but especially when Bucky felt weak or threatened, he had problems with anyone being behind him. Even more so since he remembered being raped. But they were aware of the issue, attentive to the way it could sometimes make Bucky react. Bucky had never called red when they brought their bodies together in a frenzy of heat and sweat and sex and love, but there had been a few times he said yellow. Steve always immediately slowed down, backed off, making sure to be there for Bucky while still giving him the space to breathe and figure out what he needed. That attention, care and most importantly respect of his boundaries was a benefit to both of them; it let Steve know that nothing he did was hurting Bucky in any way. And it allowed Bucky the ability to go at his own pace, knowing that Steve was there with him, acknowledging his limits and never trying to push Bucky past them. So their sex life bloomed wild and vibrant and free, and their trust in each other, already over a hundred years old, grew deeper.

 

Steve pulled on all of that trust now as he returned to the living room, Bucky’s hairbrush held in his hand. Bucky glanced at the brush and then at Steve, before he nodded. But he didn’t move. He waited until Steve seated himself on the couch, before he slowly climbed from the chair, keeping the blanket around his shoulders, and sat on the floor, in between Steve’s knees. Steve didn’t start right away. He waited until Bucky settled himself, finding a position that was comfortable, and finally nodded. It was only then, with a touch both gentle and steady, that Steve slowly started to brush Bucky’s hair.

 

It was something that was easy and familiar to the both of them now, and they did it quite often. Because they were lovers. Because Steve wanted and Bucky would give. Sometimes simply because Steve loved playing with Bucky’s hair. Other times because Bucky was as vain as a cat, and he liked to be stroked and petted simply because. And sometimes, like now, because Bucky needed to be comforted and Steve to comfort, and this was such a simple way for each of them to get what they each needed and it worked like nothing else to soothe the both of them.

 

So Steve sat and ran first his hands, then the brush through the long locks of Bucky’s beautiful, beautiful still damp hair.

 

_Stroke. Stroke. Stroke._

 

He worked in sections, starting at the top and making his way slowly downward.

 

_Stroke. Stroke. Stroke._

 

One day, noticing how Pepper’s hair always seemed to glow, Steve asked her where she got her hair done. Without even blinking, she had directed him to a high end salon on Fifth Avenue. Steve stopped inside, and purchased the nicest brush he could find. A sturdy wooden handle, with heavy bristles that were both thick and soft, reminiscent of the brushes their mothers had used. The receptionist at the salon promised it would make even the coarsest of hair shine. Steve doubted that had anything to do with it, but whenever he sat and brushed Bucky’s hair, sometimes for over an hour, it always gleamed when he was done, a shining river of earth and night that poured over his fingers.

 

_Stroke. Stroke. Stroke._

 

Steve only ever paused when there was a tangle, that he worked through with his fingers, careful never to yank or pull too hard, being as gentle as possible while he undid whatever knots he found, and then went back to brushing Bucky’s hair.

 

_Stroke. Stroke. Stroke._

 

Tender fingers over Bucky’s scalp, running over the area he had just brushed, to ease any tension that could cause Bucky pain.

 

_Stroke. Stroke. Stroke._

 

One section. Then two. Then another and another and another, Bucky’s hair now long enough that when he was done, it would spread out over the tops of Steve’s thighs, a web of satin and silk, and one of the most beautiful things Steve had even been allowed to hold.

 

_Stroke. Stroke. Stroke._

 

Sometimes when Bucky felt like being an asshole, or wanted to tease Steve, he would threaten to cut it, returning to the style of their youth. Steve responding sullen grumble would always make Bucky laugh, until he would kiss Steve quick and hard on his lips, and promise not to cut it for at least another week.

 

_Stroke. Stroke. Stroke._

 

As relaxing for Steve as it was for Bucky. Steve could lose himself for hours, sitting on their couch, Bucky curled at his feet, some movie playing in the background that neither of them paid any attention to, while Steve brushed, brushed, brushed Bucky’s hair and Bucky let him.

 

_Stroke. Stroke. Stroke._

 

Until finally, finally, under the care of Steve’s hands Bucky was able to let go, let it all go, and he would sigh, his eyes closing as his head bowed forward, at last able to sleep.

 

Sometimes Steve would watch him for a while, just staring, until he leaned back on the couch and fell into just as easy a sleep. Or sometimes, like tonight, he would sit for a bit, listening to Bucky breathe, deep and relaxed, and be grateful, so damned grateful, that Bucky trusted him enough to do this. Loved him enough to let Steve brush his hair and soothe him to sleep when he’d had a rough day. No matter how bad it had been, whenever Steve did this, it calmed something enough in Bucky to allow him to sleep dreamless and deep, for the rest of the night.

 

It could still take a few days for Bucky to fully recover from whatever he remembered. And as of yet, he hadn’t told Steve what it was that had set him off. But as Steve slowly rose, carefully guiding Bucky to his feet and over to the Lay-Z-Boy, where they both would settle in for the night, he knew they would get through this.

 

He also knew that he was no longer alone. He would be unsurprised when each of the Rodriguez women showed up at their home the next day (something else that was new now that Bucky had finally allowed the two pieces of his life to integrate). Joey in the morning with a new book she had found that she would read to Bucky while he sat on the couch. Dewy in the afternoon with Nina, so that Bucky could hold his sacred little treasure in his arms. Lulu in the early evening with bags of steaming food. Because they were family, both Bucky’s and his. And that’s what family did. No one could ever love or care for Bucky the way Steve did, and there was nothing in the world he would allow to get in his way when Bucky needed him.

 

But he wasn’t alone. He had help now, apparently he’d had help for a long time that he hadn’t known about. A family that once again Bucky had decided to share with him, filled with Puerto Rican food and Latin music and laughter and love. A thirteen-year-old genius with plans to take over the world. A sister to share gossip with. A mother who adored her children and lured them into her heart with cooking and kindness. And a baby girl, whose middle name was Sarah, that the two of them were going to spoil for the rest of their lives.

 

And this, this was Steve’s life now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I love Bucky's hair as much as Steve, and even I'm not mean enough to post something sad on Christmas...Happy Holidays! Have some hair porn. =) 
> 
> I hope that wherever you are in the world, whatever holiday you celebrate, you are having a happy, fun, love filled day. **hugs**


	19. Expansions

_Stroke. Stroke. Stroke._

 

If there was one thing Steve loved to do, it was brushing Bucky’s hair. He could happily spend hours doing it, and would have done it every night if Bucky let him. Bucky could admit there were times he was sorely tempted, because it was so relaxing to sit on the floor in between Steve’s knees and lose himself in Steve’s attentions.

 

But then again, everything Steve did was so attentive.

 

It was a strange position for Bucky to find himself in. He was used to being the one who paid attention and noticed all the details. He had learned everything from his father about how to treat someone you were interested in. He could remember the talks his father had with him, and how he treated his mother. So Bucky had always been the one to hold open doors, help his date put on her coat, remember a favorite song, or birthday, and to always listen when your companion was speaking. He may have used the skills his father taught him to go even further, but after he slept with a woman he’d been interested in, even if there was nothing more, he always continued to treat them with respect and never shared with anyone else the secrets their bodies had given him. Before the war, he’d had a few relationships that lasted several months, beautiful women he now remembered Steve never liked. None of them had lasted very long; none of them had been Stevie, and that was who he had always wanted for as long as he could remember.

 

But Steve, Steve wasn’t some sassy broad or gorgeous dame, even if he was the most beautiful person Bucky had ever laid his eyes on. He was a bossy, loud-mouthed, pain in the ass punk. But, well, he was now Bucky’s bossy, loud-mouthed, pain in the ass punk, and Bucky decided that in spite all of that, or even because of it, all his father’s lessons still held true.

 

He would be respectful, and attentive, and listen to everything Steve had to say (even if he still managed to piss Bucky off more than anyone Bucky had ever known.) He would pay attention to the details, try to anticipate and meet a need before it became too big, respect Steve’s sense of self, and nurture and support where he could.

 

And spoil Steve as much as possible.

 

So he let Steve brush his hair whenever he wanted to, even if he teased him about it, because there were reasons why they loved each other the way they did, and the constant giving each other shit was a big one. But whenever they went out together, he wore his nicest clothes, and chose the colors and cuts he knew Steve liked best, because there was nothing wrong with doing things that made your lover happy, and clothes were a simple enough thing. Bucky took on most of the cooking, because he enjoyed it and the freedom of choice he still relished after seventy-five years of enslavement, and feeding someone you loved was another way to nourish them. He asked Lulu to teach him how to cook all of Steve’s favorites, and experimented on his own. When he found a new restaurant he liked, within a week he would take Steve there, where Steve usually followed Bucky’s lead when he recommended something he knew Steve would enjoy. He encouraged Steve’s drawing, and went with him when Steve felt like spending a few hours in an art supply store, sometimes even dragging him there himself when he noticed Steve had started running low on certain supplies. He let Steve tell him about his day whenever he came back from visiting his teammates, and offered his opinions or counter-strategies when he could tell Steve was stuck or frustrated with the way things were going. It was how they interacted together back during the war. It worked for them then and it worked for them now. Steve would listen, and sometimes argue or ask for further clarification. Bucky would counter or offer another viewpoint, and Steve would consider it seriously, (he always had, and that he did it still filled Bucky with a strange sense of accomplishment and acceptance), and refine his own strategies. Whenever they were done, sometimes hours later, Steve would sit at their kitchen table with his chin in his hand, staring at Bucky in a way that made Bucky roll his eyes. Bucky wasn’t an Avenger; he didn’t think he ever would be, but they both knew if something were to come up now, there was no way on earth Bucky was going to let Steve go out into the field on his own. But it seemed as if his feedback always helped, and Steve would head back to the Tower the next day with an even sharper focus and more options to consider than before.

 

Occasionally, Bucky went so far as to use one of the laptops he had stolen from HYDRA to monitor their systems and networks, to see if there was anything he could infer from the codes in their chatter that so far only he could recognize. Steve always tried to look over his shoulder, but Bucky would shove him away with a, “Go away Steve. I’ll tell you if I see any patterns I think you need to know about.”

 

“I need to know about all of it Bucky,” Steve would argue.

 

“No you don’t Stevie. And I have to be careful or else they’ll figure out what I’m doing and we’ll lose what access we have. Now back off and let me do this.”

 

It was a sticking point between them, one of the very few left. Bucky knew Steve’s patience was running low, and at some point, and some point soon, Steve was going to insist Bucky share all of the knowledge of HYDRA he had gained over the past seventy-five years. But Bucky had ways of obtaining information that would only remain open for as long as he was as stealthy as possible and HYDRA didn’t know what he was doing. He wanted to keep that advantage for as long as he could. Steve disagreed, he always disagreed, but so far HYDRA had been quiet and Bucky considered that a win. It was going to come to a head, and Bucky knew Steve would eventually prevail, but for right now they were at an impasse. Bucky had no intentions of disturbing that nest of snakes for as long as he could.

 

Other than that, their lives were good.

 

Bucky continued to do all the things his father taught him, treating both Steve and their relationship with care, attention and respect. Steve’s life already had enough of its own pressures, and no matter what Steve may have said, Bucky still felt bad every time something from his past caught him off guard and disrupted their hard-won peace, adding yet another burden to Steve’s shoulders. So he focused as hard as he could on trying to keep the damage to a minimum and making sure that, in spite of everything, their home and their lives were Steve’s sanctuary. He gave of himself what he could, as easily as he was able, even going so far as to finally, _finally_ , share his family with Steve.

 

It had gone better than he could have hoped. Steve immediately fell in love with them, embracing them as his own, and his family had done the same. It filled him with a quiet contentment he could only identify as a feeling of peace to watch Steve bicker with Joey, smile at Lulu while they ate dinner at her kitchen table, or laugh in appreciation but never mockery at Dewy while he held Nina in his arms. Steve had been careful, cautious at first, as if he had known Bucky’s deepest, darkest fears, and hadn’t tried to steal his family from him, but share them. And instead of having less, being shut out or left behind, Bucky found he now had even more than he ever thought possible, especially during those first days after their battle in DC, when simply remembering his name had been a struggle.

 

But Steve had never once been passive in his life. And he had also learned his lessons on masculinity and what it meant to be a man from Bucky’s father. His own father had died not long after Steve had been born, so he held no memories of him, only recollections of the stories his mother told him. Until Bucky had brought him home, and Steve had been embraced by Bucky’s clan of blood and love and family ties for the first time. They were inseparable from the moment they met, and since Bucky spent a lot of his time with his father, so did Steve.

 

George Barnes had been a good man; Bucky could remember that now (even if he still could not find any memories of his mother or his sisters, no matter how hard he tried). He had taken one look at Steve, and then later Sarah with Winifred, and decided to welcome them into his clan. So he taught both of his lads about courage and honor and bravery. Doing what was right, not for any reward, but because it was the right thing to do. Usually the more difficult choice, but that’s what made a man a man according to him. Steve had been brave and courageous long before he ever met George, but just as Bucky’s da carefully sanded and polished the wood he loved to work beneath his hands, he carefully polished and sanded both Bucky and Steve, contouring but never obstructing who they were, until both Bucky and Steve, especially Steve, gleamed with all of the care and attention he had provided. A decent and gentle man, ahead of his time, Bucky now knew, who taught Bucky, who then taught Steve, how to fight, but seldom raised his voice, and never his hands, to his wife or any of his children.

 

‘ _Ye use yer fists only to protect, yourselves or those that can’t protect themselves, but never to hurt, ya hear me lads,_ ’ Bucky remembered him saying. ‘ _But if ye do find yeself in a fight, take ye opponent down and make sure they stay that way._ ’

 

Lessons, lessons, so many lessons, and apparently Bucky wasn’t the only who had taken everything his father had said to heart.

 

Because Steve treated Bucky the way he had witnessed George treat Bucky’s mother. Bucky had watched, and seen the way Steve treated Peggy during their time together, all attention, respect and gentleness, and knew there had been a bit of his father in that. But to be on the receiving end of that same focus was an entirely different experience.

 

Steve was courting him, was continuing to court him, even though they were now finally what they had always been meant to be. So they went and spent time with Bucky’s family, _their_ family now, where Steve became a second son, brother, indulgent uncle. (Joey could still take or leave Steve most days, but that was Joey and just who she was.) He was devoted, watchful, protective and concerned. He was also the same way with Bucky. But, along with all of that, he was also attentive and indulgent, and it took Bucky a few weeks to realize that in his own way, Steve was trying his hardest to spoil Bucky, to let Bucky know that his presence, their years of friendship, and the now sharing of their bodies as another expression of the love they always had for each other was cherished and sacred and deeply, deeply treasured.

 

So, while they spent a lot of their time with Bucky’s family, there were the dinners Steve insisted on taking Bucky to, and movie nights both at home or whenever something struck Steve’s fancy and he declared they were going out, just the two of them, to spend some time alone together. He never failed to notice when Bucky discovered a new food he enjoyed, and ensured it arrived in their next food delivery, which always came with fruit, tons and tons of fruit. He bitched at Bucky about his unwillingness to share his Thin Mint cookies, but once he discovered there were other varieties of chocolate mint cookies, packages of those started showing up in their delivery as well. Bucky’s favorite brand of peanut butter, or coffee, or pounds and pounds of fresh bacon from their local butcher when Bucky admitted he preferred that to anything available in a supermarket. Food, lots and lots of food, because he knew how afraid Bucky still sometimes was about going hungry, and he wanted to ease any and all of Bucky’s fears.

 

That wasn’t all he did.

 

He never shied away from Bucky, even when they were in public. They were always discrete, but it wasn’t out of some sense of shame and inability to admit who they were to each other. But Steve _was_ Captain America. Most of their neighborhood knew who Steve was by now, but they seemed to relish his presence and the safety it guaranteed. In exchange, they respected his privacy, and kept anything they knew about him to themselves. But whenever they left Sunset Park, either to eat at a new restaurant, or visit a museum or art gallery, they both wore baseball caps with the brims pulled low, and kept their hands to themselves. If someone recognized Steve and saw them together, it would draw more attention than either of them needed at that point in their lives. Yet just like with Peggy during their time during the war, he always stood close when they were together, and leaned in to quietly say whatever it was he had on his mind into Bucky’s ear. And if someone did end up recognizing Steve, well, Bucky knew better than anyone how to disappear in a crowd, or even an empty room. It always frustrated and amused Steve, but he’d developed his own intuition when it came to Bucky, and once he was done, always polite but never lingering, he could easily find Bucky no matter where he had hidden himself, usually with a roll of his eyes and an apology.

 

It annoyed Bucky sometimes. Not the recognition, but because he knew how much it bothered Steve, these people who were only interested in Steve because of his status as an international icon or his body, instead of the man behind all of that. They had no idea all of the sacrifices he made, was still making, and if he wanted to spend some time looking at colored pencils, or the paintings from the Renaissance at the Met in peace, then he should be able to. But it was a part of Steve’s life, and Bucky had long ago grown used to it, and Steve, seeming to feel some misplaced sense of guilt for all that had happened decades ago, made sure to let Bucky know he was not forgotten and would never be left behind again.

 

So, there were dates, and walks through the many parks in New York City, and trips to the various farmers’ markets. They took the train to Coney Island and spent a day eating hotdogs from Nathan’s, while comparing the differences between then and now. Just so Steve could prove a point, they rode the Cyclone again, Steve crowing when he didn’t throw up this time. They even began to take small day trips out of the city, Steve beaming in delight the day Bucky  agreed to ride behind Steve on the back of his motorcycle, Steve picking their destination, and Bucky with his arms around Steve’s waist, shielding his back like he had done for all of their lives.

 

And there was still the house, which they hadn’t finished yet, and their small garden, and new discussions about what, if anything, they should do with the roof. The day to day of their lives, its earlier challenges and setbacks almost completely forgotten.

 

But those weren’t the only ways Steve expressed his devotion to Bucky. Because as much as Steve loved to spend time with Bucky, doing the little things couples had always done together, and could spend hours brushing Bucky’s hair, he seemed to love Bucky’s body even more. Bucky had to admit he’d initially been surprised by how easily Steve accepted having a man as his partner in bed. When Bucky asked him about it, late one night once their skins had separated and they were lying together in a gasping, sweaty heap, wanting to be sure, Steve rolled his eyes at him and called him an idiot.

 

“It’s always been you Buck,” Steve said. “Even when we were kids. I just didn’t know what it was back then. And I did love Peggy, Bucky, I did,” and here Steve paused and looked away as if he were ashamed of being able to love someone else. It didn’t bother Bucky; he’d been jealous, sure, furiously so. But he knew Steve better than anyone else, and had always accepted that his heart was the biggest in the world. Unlike Bucky, who had only ever really loved Steve, Steve could easily love more than one person at a time. “But it wasn’t like it is now, back then. If it was, I would have chosen you. And if I could go back now and do it all again, I would do it differently. So differently, because I loved you Buck, even back then I loved you so fucking much it hurt.”

 

“Idiot,” it was Bucky’s turn to say. “And we’re both here now Stevie, so, you know, it worked out in the end.”

 

“It just took us almost an entire century to get here,” Steve said. “But then again, we can both be dumbasses sometimes.”

 

“Speak for yourself,” Bucky retorted. “There’s only one dumbass in this bed, and it ain’t me.” Steve laughed and called Bucky an asshole, and then the two of them spent the rest of the night talking honestly with each other about what the war had been like for the both of them as individuals instead of as Captain America and his second in command, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.

 

So Steve spoke about how at first he felt like a carnival sideshow when he had been doing the USO tours, and how when he finally entered into the actual battles he hadn’t had any training. The pressure he felt to succeed, and how he believed even then that all the attention he had gotten had been undeserved. He even went so far as to tell Bucky, with tears in his eyes, how watching Bucky fall from the train, slipping through his fingers to what he was sure had been Bucky’s death played a big part in his decision to crash the Valkyrie into the ice. Bucky didn’t call him an idiot that time, merely held him tighter in his arms, pressing Steve’s face against his neck so he could feel Bucky’s pulse and smell his skin. Bucky didn’t even feel much anger, or at least not a lot of it, because he knew if their situations had been reversed, if Bucky had been the one to watch Steve fall, he probably would have made the same decision.

 

After that, it was Bucky’s turn.

 

He told Steve about his first kill, and how his captain at the time had helped him through it. And then he told Steve about how it was during their first separation during the war that Bucky had learned what it was like to be with a man, how exciting and new it had been, one of the few things that were, when everyday out in the trenches felt like a death sentence. He even went so far as to talk about Lionel; how he hadn’t loved him, but had really, really liked him, his death being one of the hardest ones Bucky had to endure, and how sometimes late at night, when went up to the roof for a smoke because he couldn’t sleep, he still thought about Yves and wondered what had happened to him.

 

And then he told Steve about what Zola’s serum had done to his body, both within and without, all of the pain he had been going through, and all of the things he could suddenly do that he had never been able to before. Not knowing what was happening to him, but being too terrified to tell anyone, even Steve, about what was going on, because he had convinced himself it was some sort of punishment he deserved for surviving when so many others he’d known had not.

 

Steve didn’t say anything, letting Bucky talk, until Bucky finally finished, and it was Steve’s turn to pull him tight into his arms, and press Bucky’s head against his chest, so Bucky could be soothed by the steady beating of Steve’s heart.

 

A difficult night, but a blessed one, secrets and truths finally shared, resulting in an even deeper intimacy between them both.

 

But their lives were full of intimacies now. And Steve, even more so than Bucky, seemed determined to make sure they never made the same mistakes they once had. Because Bucky had always thrived when he could nurture and care for and protect those he loved. But so did Steve, especially when it came to the one person Steve finally admitted he had always known, in the frailest pathways of his sickly lungs and the deepest marrow of his now unbreakable bones, was his soulmate.

 

Bucky.

 

He became at expert at noticing and understanding all of Bucky’s miniscule cues, even better than before, and attuned himself to Bucky’s body in a way that amazed him.

 

He could always tell when Bucky’s shoulder was bothering him, even though Bucky never mentioned when he was in pain. On those nights, whether they’d had sex or not, Steve would urge Bucky to lie on his right side, positioning himself at Bucky’s back, and with those deft, artistic fingers, massage Bucky’s neck, and the muscles and skin around the plates where the metal was fused, until Bucky couldn’t help but sigh when all of the tension and pain finally released. Then he would reach into his night table and pull out one of the adhesive heating pads he kept there now, carefully taping it to Bucky’s skin, a steady source of warmth that seeped deep into Bucky’s flesh and bones, and eased the constant ache even further. It still hurt, Bucky knew that more than likely the constant aching would never completely go away. But when he woke up the next morning, he was as close to pain free as he could ever remember being.

 

And during the nights (or mornings, or afternoons, or after dinner, or just because it was sunny or cloudy or raining outside) when they did have sex, well, Steve took great pride in making sure  Bucky’s body wasn’t only as pain-free as possible, but that his skin would sing when they were done.

 

He’d been unsure at first. Not passive, no. Passivity had never been a part of Steve’s nature. He was inexperienced when it came to having sex with a man, and as a result he hadn’t been as aggressive as Bucky knew he could be. Bucky had known that wouldn’t last long, and enjoyed being the more knowledgeable partner while he could. But it hadn’t taken Steve long to quickly catch on, embracing every experience they shared, learning from and then improving on it with that damned keen mind of his. He never hesitated to let Bucky know when he liked something, and unlike Bucky he had no problems letting himself go and being overwhelmed. Bucky relished every single time Steve simply surrendered to both Bucky and his own body, moaning, babbling, calling Bucky’s name out whenever he came.

 

But he was curious, and loved to explore. Every angle, and position and inch of Bucky’s skin, relishing each experience and always eager to try it for himself and bring Bucky to the same heights of pleasure. He quickly mastered the art of giving a blow job, enjoying the giving as much as the receiving, moaning as greedily as Bucky did when it was his turn on his knees. He loved to get fucked, admitting he had been surprised by how good it felt, but not ashamed in the least. And once he discovered he could ride Bucky, he became as bossy and demanding as he had ever been on a battlefield, leading to nights where they spent hours locked together, each challenging the other to see who would break first.

 

Yet he could also be gentle and curious, and spend hours just studying Bucky’s body and mapping out every inch of his flesh. He was fascinated by the soft skin of Bucky’s balls, and loved to lay with his head on Bucky’s thigh, gently running his fingertips over them, smiling at the combined textures of skin and hair. He could spend an endless amount of time playing with Bucky’s foreskin, tracing over the veins with both his fingers and tongue. And his artist’s gaze never grew tired of the contours of Bucky’s muscles; sometimes Bucky would wake up in the morning to the sound of a pencil on paper, squinting his eyes open to find Steve sitting cross legged in their bed, his sketchpad on his lap as he drew study after study of Bucky’s body. Steve would only look up when Bucky groaned, always with a murmured, “Don’t move. I’m almost done, and I want to take advantage of the light.” Bucky had no idea what Steve was doing with all those finished sketches; he just hoped Steve was keeping them someplace away from prying eyes. But he never moved and tried to hold as still as possible, until Steve would break free from his trance, nod, and kiss Bucky good morning.

 

For all of that though, Steve was also very good at respecting Bucky’s boundaries, never pushing him any farther than Bucky was willing to go. Dedicated and passionate, but very aware of what Bucky was able to give, and cognizant of even the slightest change in Bucky’s mood or breathing, immediately checking in when he noticed the tiniest of shifts. It should have felt inhibiting or limiting, but it didn’t. Instead it was a freedom that slowly imprinted itself on both Bucky’s body and soul, reminding Bucky of the trust that had _always_ been there, even at the very beginning when Bucky first invited Steve to follow him to breakfast. Steve would never hurt him, had no desire to ever hurt him, and that knowledge, once ingrained in Bucky’s bones and slowly starting to reawaken, allowed him to let go even further, to hunger and want for things he once enjoyed, but never thought he would be able to experience again. Steve would give him anything he asked for, wanting to give Bucky as much pleasure and release as Bucky was able to accept. And he would stop immediately if something struck a chord that had the potential to unleash any of the icy thorns his memories had planted as soon as Bucky uttered a single, solitary word, making sure Bucky knew he was safe, and anything they did was only with Bucky’s complete consent.

 

A simple concept, in so many ways. But a freeing one. Once Bucky was finally able to understand, deep within his body and blood and bones, it felt natural to ask Steve for something he had never asked of him before. So he reached up, and took Steve’s hand into his own, guiding it down to a place on his body he had never let Steve previously touch, and pressed it against his ass.

 

Steve paused, pulling back to look at Bucky’s face. “Buck?”

 

“I wanna feel your fingers in me, Stevie,” Bucky whispered.

 

“Are you sure?” Steve asked quietly.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded. “I’m sure. I used to love getting that done to me. Always made me come buckets. And I’ve been wanting to feel your fingers up my ass ever since I found that out. So yeah Stevie, I’m sure.”

 

Steve continued to stare at him, his head cocked slightly. He wanted to do it, Bucky could tell. But he only would if he was absolutely positive it was something Bucky was ready for, was willing to give him.

 

“Color?” he finally asked, because he needed both Bucky’s permission and confirmation.

 

“Green.” It was easy for Bucky to say. Steve stared at him for a few seconds more, before he swallowed and finally nodded.

 

“Okay, okay,” he whispered into the dark. But he didn’t start right away, instead leaning forward, bringing their mouths together in a hot and wet dance of lips and tongue.

 

Steve loved to kiss and be kissed; Bucky sometimes wondered if it was because Steve’s body had memories of its own, of being trapped in a coffin of ice for seventy years, alone and untouched for over seven decades. But since Bucky loved to kiss and be kissed by Steve, he had no complaints, and he felt himself melting even more into the steady thrum of Steve’s ever constant heat, to the point where he was pleasantly dazed when Steve eventually pulled back and reached for the bottle of lube that now had a permanent home on his nightstand.

 

“Any instructions?” he asked.

 

“I’ve done this enough to you that you should have a pretty good idea by now,” Bucky told him.

 

“I fucking love it when you do this to me Buck. It drives me up a fucking wall,” Steve easily admitted with a smile.

 

“Then you should know what to do.” Bucky opened his legs, spreading his thighs to make room for Steve. But then he paused, because he had to say this, and one of the few things Steve demanded from him when they were in bed was that Bucky let Steve know whenever he needed something. “Just…go slow. It’s been a while.”

 

Steve stared at him for a few seconds more, studying Bucky’s face, before he nodded and shifted, so that he was lower on the bed. Then he set himself to the task at hand, and turned all of his attention onto wringing out every single drop of pleasure from Bucky’s body that he could.

 

He went slowly at first, almost too slow for Bucky, when he had wanted Steve to do this to him for so long now. But it was the right decision to make, instead of propelling Bucky to a height he wasn’t ready for, easily gentling him to each level instead. So he ran his hands and then his lips over the inside of Bucky’s thighs. He cradled and stroked both Bucky’s balls and his dick with exploratory fingers, and smoothed the dark nest of neatly trimmed hair. He soothed and he murmured and he warmed all of Bucky’s skin, until Bucky felt his thighs spreading even further of their own volition, and he was relaxed and gentled and led into such an eager ease that he actually jerked slightly when he felt the first brush of Steve’s fingertip, just a single fingertip, over the outer rim of his asshole, already slick with lube.

 

“This okay Buck?” Steve had somehow climbed back up Bucky’s body so that they were face to face again without Bucky noticing, but with his hand still in between Bucky’s legs.

 

“Yeah, it’s good. You just startled me is all. But it feels really nice Stevie.” And it did. Steve hadn’t pulled his finger away, just kept it where it was. Once Bucky had answered him, he slowly began to circle it over Bucky’s entrance with a light but steady pressure. It felt good, soothing, an easy rhythm over Bucky’s skin that made it start to tingle. All of the while, Steve kissed him, his chin, his jaw, Steve’s breath hot wherever his lips touched.

 

“I’m going in Buck, but just one finger. And I want you to breathe for me, okay?” Steve instructed. Bucky nodded, and closed his eyes as Steve did as he said he would, and slid just a single finger slowly into his body.

 

It was broad and long and strong, an unfamiliar presence Bucky’s body welcomed.

 

And that was strange, because it felt good. For an instant, just an instant, Bucky was confused. Because he had liked this, he knew he had liked this once. But the last time anything had touched him there, it had been nothing but burning and pain. But it felt good now, and Bucky found himself struggling to reach for a memory he knew should be there, of laughter and kisses and the sensation of knowing fingers in his body. Pale skin, red hair, freckles, and a French accent. A shared cigarette and an easy familiarity.

 

But this was the wrong time, the wrong place, and he couldn’t understand why.

 

“Bucky,” he heard Steve’s voice calling to him. “Bucky come on, open your eyes and look at me Bucky. Please. It’s me, Stevie, and I need you to tell me if you want me to stop.” Bucky opened his eyes to find Steve staring down at him, his features filled with concern. “Are you with me Bucky?”

 

“Yeah.” Bucky realized he was frowning, felt his brow furrowing. “Sorry. Got lost there for a second.”

 

“Don’t apologize Buck. Just tell me, do you need me to stop?” Steve asked him softly. His eyes were so blue, even in the dark of the room, framed with golden lashes that sometimes reminded Bucky of the sun’s tears.

 

“No, no, don’t stop. It’s nice, I like it,” Bucky told him.

 

“Okay,” Steve agreed. “But I want you to try to keep your eyes open, all right? Because I wanna look into them while I’m doing this, yeah?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Steve was studying him again, taking in every single one of Bucky’s details. He had to be able to feel the way Bucky’s body was clenching around his finger, not in rejection but a growing eagerness. He finally nodded and pushed his finger even deeper into Bucky’s body, shivering when Bucky moaned.

 

“Oh god Bucky, oh god, your face. I’m going to have to sketch you like this one day, because your face Bucky, _your face,_ ” he gasped.

 

“Yeah, okay, just don’t stop,” were the last words Bucky spoke for a long time after that. Because Steve’s finger was steady and knowing as it sunk deeper and deeper into Bucky’s asshole. He didn’t poke or jab, just persisted in a slow going but determined press that felt better and better with every second that ticked by.

 

It was good, it was _so, so good_ , and both Bucky and his body did remember that he once loved having this done to him, while never forgetting where he was or who was doing it to him now. He kept his eyes open, but his focus began to slip away, not from the present, but even more into it, as his body opened and hungered and allowed itself to be stretched.

 

“Another finger,” he demanded when the stretch turned into a burning throb, a desperation for more.

 

“Yeah, okay, gimme a sec,” was Steve’s whispered response, that Bucky barely heard as Steve somehow managed to get even more lube on his hand. And then he was pressing a second finger inside, along with the first, and Bucky felt the blissful burn of stretching muscles, demanding even more from him.

 

“Oh god,” Steve sounded like he was choking when Bucky’s hips started to move, searching for a deeper reach and a stronger stretch. “I can see why you love doing this to me, cos you’re so tight and oh god, it’s so hot, and holy shit Bucky, I’ve been wanting to do this to you for so long, and I think I could do this forever, because, oh Jesus, Bucky, you feel so good around my fingers.”

 

There were kisses to his face, fingers deep within his ass, and pleased and praising words pressed into his skin, and Bucky was lost, lost, lost, so lost, but in the best of ways.

 

Then Steve seemed to suddenly remember that Bucky _had_ done this to him, and why it could be a such a wonderful gift to receive. He crooked his fingers, just so, searching for that tiny nub inside Bucky’s body that would make it even better.

 

And because it was Steve, and there had never been a challenge he couldn’t meet, he found it on the first try.

 

Then it wasn’t just kisses to his face, and fingers deep within his ass, and pleased and praising words pressed into his skin. But bursts of pleasure, and ripples of joy, and a release deeper and more all-consuming than any Bucky could remember, his entire body contracting before it surrendered itself, he surrendered himself, to the endless cascade that carried him away but never let him fall.

 

“Oh god, oh god, Bucky are you good? Are you okay?” There was desperation in Steve’s voice, enough of it to call Bucky back into himself so he could open his eyes and blink up at Steve. Steve was staring down at him in both awe and amazement.

 

“Yeah Stevie, I am so fucking good right now,” Bucky laughed, warm and content and pleased with everything in the world.

 

“Okay, cos I really need to – like, _right now_ …” Bucky blinked again, noticing for the first time that Steve’s shoulder was jerking back and forth, and realized it was because he was jacking himself off, furiously pumping at his own dick.

 

“Yeah Stevie, come on.” Bucky somehow managed to lower his hand, and wrapped it around Steve’s own while he stroked his cock. “Let go and come all over me and then we can lick each other clean.”

 

Bucky really relished the discovery of Steve’s love of being talked dirty to. Because it only took those words, and nothing more, before Steve cried out, his entire body stiffening, as he added his own mess to the one already smeared all over Bucky’s stomach.

 

They never got around to licking each other clean. Bucky was too blissed out and relaxed to do anything more than smile into the kisses Steve showered his face with. And something seemed to have shorted out in Steve’s brain, because after one last check to make sure Bucky was all right, he didn’t say a single word for the rest of the evening. But that was more than fine, because they fell asleep together not long after that, the both of them with smiles on their faces.

 

***

 

It was to warmth against his back and the feel of fingers in his hair that greeted Bucky when he woke the next morning. And a kiss to the nape of his neck as he slowly blinked his way further into consciousness.

 

“Geroff Stevie,” he might have mumbled, but he didn’t move. Nor did he push Steve away. Behind him, Steve laughed and draped a heavy arm over Bucky’s waist, which he used to pull Bucky in even closer.

 

“Good morning sunshine,” Steve sing-songed. He was going to be annoying. Bucky just knew it.

 

“Ugh.”

 

“Oh, come on Bucky…Bucky…Rise and shine Sergeant. Up and at ‘em. Early bird catches the worm.”

 

“I will fucking kill you if you don’t shut up.”

 

“Good to know that some things haven’t changed,” Steve laughed one last time, but then grew quiet. There was a tightening of his arms and another kiss to the back of Bucky’s neck. “You okay after everything last night?”

 

So goddamned Stevie, because of course he was going to want to know how Bucky was feeling. Bucky took a minute, pulling himself free from his contented stupor to check. Aside from the annoying chatter-box behind him, he felt fantastic. Relaxed and calm, loose limbed and easy, so much so that Steve’s weight, solid and steady at his back, was a comfort, a blanket of safety and security that was warm and perfect in the midmorning air.

 

And relieved, if he were being honest. Something else that had been taken from him, now returned. The fact that it had been Stevie who helped him in his reclamation only made it better.

 

“I’m good. You’re good. We’re all good.” It was true, except for the fact that now Bucky’s brain had finally begun to engage, he could not help but notice the itchy dried mess clinging to both of their skins. “Except I think I need a shower.” He reached down to scratch his stomach and grimaced at what he found.

 

“And coffee.”

 

“Course,” Bucky agreed.

 

“That you’re going to start as soon as you get up.”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes. Apparently, it was never too early for Captain-Really-Should-Know-Better-By-Now to start giving orders. “Not if you hope to do what we did last night ever again.”

 

“We’re doing that again?” He could hear it in Steve’s voice, the eagerness and excitement. Steve probably had an entire new list of things he wanted to try now they had crossed this bridge together.

 

“We _were,_ ” Bucky groused, pulling himself out and away from the warm nest of their bed to slowly sit up. “Until somebody had to open his big fat mouth and ruin it.” When he looked over his shoulder, Steve was lying on his back, his hands propped behind his head, smiling smugly up at Bucky. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought Steve was showing off his biceps.

 

But he did know better, and the bastard was.

 

“Admit it, you enjoyed that.” Cocky asshole.

 

“I did,” Bucky agreed as he rose to his feet. “But that’s just because I taught you everything you know.”

 

The sound of Steve’s laughter followed him all the way into the bathroom.

 

***

 

Bucky _had_ enjoyed everything they had done last night. Welcomed the release and appreciation for his body Steve always went out of his way to show.

 

As he stood in the shower, the warm water washing away the remains of last night’s sweat, semen and slick, he looked down at himself, studying his body, its shapes and contours, both metal and flesh. Nothing about it bothered Steve, not even his arm. To Steve, Bucky’s body was beautiful, in spite of what it had done and been done to it. Perhaps even because of it. Steve went so far as to see some strange sort of grace in his scarring; Bucky knew, had seen, the pages in Steve’s sketchbook he had filled with drawing after drawing of the jagged crisscrossing, a study not of brutality and pain, but healing, survival, the ability to endure and overcome. So many trials and secrets scored along Bucky’s skin, and Steve asked for nothing more than to be able to study and stare, kiss and adore, and if the light was right, the permission to try to capture all he had seen.

 

Bucky went so far as to believe that Steve probably knew Bucky’s body better than he did himself. He had helped to nurture and care for it, feed it and hold it in his arms. Wiped away his tears and sweat, and helped Bucky improve and maintain his strength. So much he knew about this construction of blood and bone, nerves and sinew, metal and circuitry.

 

All except for one last thing. As Bucky watched the last of the soap from his hair disappear down the drain, he thought maybe it was finally time to share even that with Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to take a moment here to thank everyone for all of the support, comments, friendship, music and laughter you all so generously shared with me last year, and wish you all nothing but the best for 2019. Happy New Year everyone - have some fluffy feels. =)


	20. To Be Bare...

With the bright summer sunlight pouring in through their kitchen window, and a pot of coffee already brewing, Bucky sat at the kitchen table he had cleared and wiped down, his maintenance kit spread out before him, and opened the panel on his forearm.

 

It had been a while since he’d last done this, but as he spent even more time free from HYDRA, and his arm maintained its optimal performance, he was less nervous about its care and condition than he had been. The arm was built to endure; it would probably last until the end of time, long after Bucky’s bones had turned to dust. He still checked its inner workings, wanting to ensure its functioning. But unless it was bothering him, he did every three weeks now instead of two. It was his greatest asset, the ultimate weapon he could use to defend himself and Steve, so he needed to make sure it never failed. But it was designed to function and adapt, no matter what circumstances it encountered, and as Bucky grew more knowledgeable of how it worked, it seemed to need his care less and less.

 

Or perhaps it was because he maintained the arm better than HYDRA ever did. Because that’s what Bucky focused on; maintenance and not modification. You could not improve upon perfection, and even Bucky had to admit the arm was as perfect a design as any he had ever encountered.

 

That didn't mean he still didn’t need to tweak its inner workings from time to time, or make sure all of the gears and circuitry were clean. And now that Steve had started to massage and apply heat packs whenever he noticed any tension in Bucky’s shoulder, the muscles were even looser than they’d ever been. The differences were infinitesimal, so much so he doubted anyone would notice, not even Steve when they trained together. But Bucky could tell, could feel the feedback loop in his brain informing him he could perform even better, and he needed to make adjustments.

 

So he sat in the kitchen and opened the outer plate, and activated the codes that unlocked the inner access panel and began a slow and careful diagnostic to find what gears he needed to tighten, and which circuits should be left alone.

 

“Oh god, please tell me that’s coffee I smell.” Steve ambled into the kitchen after his own shower, shirtless, wiping at his still damp hair with a towel. He’d been in their bed when Bucky had last seen him, pencil in hand as he smiled softly down at the latest sketch he was working on. Bucky had grabbed his clothes and left him to it. He went back to the first bedroom where he still kept most of his things to retrieve his toolkit so he could work on his arm. As he stepped into the kitchen, Steve saw the toolkit and Bucky’s open arm and froze, the towel he’d been holding falling from his hand and onto his shoulders.

 

“Over there.” Bucky didn’t bother to look up from his work. He was monitoring the tension in the synthetic ulnar nerve, and this could be tricky work, as it affected the tension and sensory data in his hand. Roll the fingers, watch the metallic tendons extend and contract; smooth, perfect, no repairs needed.

 

“What–what are you doing?”

 

Bucky didn’t bother to answer, sparing Steve a glance so he could roll his eyes at him. He could feel Steve’s stillness and his watchful gaze, curious and fascinated as Bucky lowered the gear shift he’d been using and reached for the diagnostic wand.

 

“Can I–can I watch?” Came the question a few seconds later. Bucky rolled his eyes at him again, and then inserted the wand into its access port. This part was difficult, the pulses from the wand radiating up his forearm and arm, into his shoulder as the electronic probe scanned the brachial plexus and synthetic connections in his cerebral cortex. Invasive and uncomfortable, but Bucky had long since been trained not to flinch.

 

Bucky was aware of the sound of the chair next to his being pulled from the table as Steve sat down, but he ignored it. Five, four, three, two, one, then the wand flashed blue. Perfect functionality, no repairs or adjustments needed. Bucky sighed and unlocked the wand from its port. A flexing of his fingers and a roll of his wrist and he agreed with the wand’s assessment. There was still that infinitesimal drag, but its source was not in his lower arm. He knew where it was, had such a perfect synchronicity with his arm he could easily pinpoint where any discrepancies were, but he still had a process he followed. And it had been a few weeks since he’d last done this, so he wanted to double- and triple-check the entirety of its inner workings.

 

And if he was going to let Steve _finally_ witness the who and what it was he had taken into his bed, then he was going to let him see all of it.

 

He replaced the wand to its spot in his kit, and after a blast of compressed air, locked the inner access panel and sealed the outer plate. Then he reached for the unlocking device, opened the plating on his bicep and took a deep breath. He could feel Steve’s eyes on him as he cocked his head to the side once, an abrupt jerking motion that released the codes to reveal the inner circuitry with a silent hiss.

 

Steve was staring at him, watching every move he made and tool he selected, his gaze flicking back and forth between Bucky’s face and arm.

 

“Freaked out yet?” Bucky asked, making sure his voice sounded more casual than he actually felt. Not to insult or hurt to Steve, but to show he understood. It was horrific, all of it. The arm, its inner workings and all he had to do to make sure it never failed. But it was his, and just like the Asset had been, he would own and embrace and respect all that it was.

 

“No Buck,” Steve said softly, making sure to meet Bucky’s gaze so he could see the truth in Steve’s eyes. “Fascinated. But not freaked out.” Bucky studied him, seeing that truth there, and nodded. Then he shifted slightly, turning his upper arm toward Steve, and tightened his fingers into a fist so Steve could observe the inner gears shifting as they synched to perform the movement. Steve leaned in even closer, his eyebrows furrowing as he studied the mechanics shift and whir.

 

“How often do you do this?” Steve’s voice was hushed in the early morning air, as if he were in church and not their kitchen, watching as his cyborg boyfriend performed the upkeep on his arm.

 

“Every couple of weeks or so,” Bucky answered, reaching for the modified screwdriver he would use to adjust the gears.

 

“And you’ve been doing this all along?” Curious, curious, he was always so curious, that one. It had gotten the both of them into trouble more times than Bucky could count.

 

“It’s my arm,” was all Bucky said, matching one of the screwdriver heads to the right gear, feeling it slide into place. “Now be quiet Steve. This part’s a bit tricky, and I need to concentrate.” He wasn’t harsh in his words, merely honest. And he did need to concentrate, or he’d run the risk of turning the wrong gear too tightly, which would result in a wave of burning pain that would echo all the way into his brain and down his spine.

 

Steve sat and watched and said nothing, sitting in a silent study as Bucky repeated the entire process on his upper arm. An adjustment here, a tweak there, and then a full diagnostic. Nothing outside of established parameters, and once again all systems performing at one hundred percent functionality. He sealed the access panels, locked the outer plates and sighed. It was time to analyze the shoulder. He knew that’s where the issue was, but it was difficult to work on, not only because of its angle, but because of what was revealed whenever he opened the plating.

 

But Steve, brilliant and intuitive Steve, was already accepting, comprehending, adapting. He watched as Bucky placed the shaving mirror he used, exacting as he adjusted its tilt. He must have seen the way Bucky tilted his shoulder and twisted his neck, and reached out with both hands to carefully lift the mirror so it would be at an angle that would make it easier for Bucky to observe his work.

 

“This is the ugliest part of it, Steve,” Bucky said softly. “You may not want to see this.”

 

“Don’t be an idiot Buck,” was Steve’s response, just as soft. And then he held perfectly still and waited for Bucky to begin.

 

It was more than just the position of the access plates that made the shoulder difficult to work on. It was here where the metal met his flesh in a brutal kiss of technology and cells.  And once Bucky cocked his head and coded the release, it would all be there, out in the open for Steve to see.

 

Blood and bone, vibranium and adamantium, twisted around each other in a man-made casing though which some combination of cerebrospinal, endoneurial and other synthetic fluids flowed. Flesh that wasn’t fused to metal but transformed into it, connected by over a million clasps, sealed to the skin through microscopic fusions and circuits. Gruesome and bloody, nerves and smoothed over edges wrapped around a central, cybernetic core that ran through the center of Bucky’s cervical vertebrae and into the base of his brain. Pain and power, constriction and control, somehow melded to create a perfect blend of body and soul, war and death.

 

Steve’s eyes widened in shock as he saw all of it for the first time, but he said nothing, only glanced at Bucky and then went back to staring, waiting for Bucky to continue.

 

This was the most delicate of work, and in learning to do it, Bucky had made both his biggest mistakes and greatest successes. He had to use his flesh hand to search for and identify any problems, while twisting over his shoulder to make the smallest, smallest, smallest adjustments, and not overwhelm his own neurons to the point where he blacked out and collapsed on the floor. It had happened in the past, when he’d been too aggressive, too careless, too ignorant to know better. But he had watched his handlers working on him, and now could claim enough experience of his own to begin the slow work of making just the right minute changes to achieve the results he was after.

 

“Don’t ask,” he murmured quietly as he used his tools to pick and prod and twist and tighten. “Because I don’t know how they did it. I don’t even know how it’s possible. All I know is that when I woke up it was already attached.” He paused to take a breath, the involuntary fluttering of his eyelids telling him he had overcompensated and needed to release the gear he had just adjusted.

 

“The serum, probably,” was Steve’s just as quiet response. “It doesn’t look like there’s any scar tissue, at least not on the inside. The pieces, all of it, just blend together as if they’re one and the same.”

 

“Fucking serums.” Bucky tilted his head carefully to the side, using the stretch to feel the torque in the connections.

 

“It’s the reason you survived Bucky,” Steve said. “So you can hate it, and I don’t blame you. But I never will.”

 

A clamping of a nerve, the twisting of a clutch, and then a deep probe with the rod’s connections. Another countdown, a flash of blue and then a beep. Bucky rolled his neck, vulnerable and exposed, and felt the throb of withdrawal as he disengaged the wand.

 

“It’s also probably the reason why you’re the only one who’s ever had an arm like this. It more than likely would have killed anyone else they tried to attach it to.” Steve leaned forward, studying the inner workings. “It’s not attached, not really. It’s more like…your flesh grows into the metal.”

 

“Lucky me,” Bucky grunted and then rolled his head in Steve’s direction. “Now I need you to be quiet again Stevie. I fucking hate this part and it hurts like a sonovabitch. I need to concentrate.”

 

It took ten more minutes while Bucky worked and Steve held still, keeping the mirror at its perfect angle so Bucky could see what he was doing. Ten minutes of twists and turns and slicing flashes of searing pain, before Bucky achieved the synchronicity he was looking for, and he sat back with a deep and relieved sigh.

 

He sealed the inner plating, but not the outer one, not just yet. There was one last thing he had to do first.

 

“Final step,” he informed Steve as he rose from the table and took a step back. He clenched his fist, rotated his wrist and then swung his arm around in a complete circle, feeling the reset kick in once he reached the three-hundred and sixtieth degree. _Done._ It was done, and now he had to deal with the aftermath.

 

“So,” he began, as he used the fingers of his right hand to lock the outer plate back into place. “Now you know what kind of Frankenstein's monster you’ve been sleeping with.” He straightened all of the tools he had used into a perfect line, and began the just as methodical process of cleaning each one.

 

“No,” Steve countered. And of course he would disagree. He would argue black was white and rain wasn’t wet if he thought he was right. “Now I know what you have to do to make sure your arm keeps working. We’ll take care of it Bucky, just like everything else.” Bucky chuffed at him, because of course, _of course_ Steve was going to use the word _we_. But he didn’t say anything, just focused on cleaning and organizing his tools.

 

“Why now?” Steve asked a few minutes later, as Bucky was zipping the case closed.

 

“Figured it was time.” Bucky shrugged. “You know just about everything else there is to know. This was the last of it. Decided to trust you with it.”

 

Steve didn’t say anything. For one of the few times in his life, Bucky had no idea what was going through his head. He thought this was something he could share with Steve, but maybe it was too much even for him.

 

Until, as silent as a cat, as delicate as a tear, Steve leaned forward and placed a kiss, just one, soft and sweet, to the line of scarring that ran down Bucky’s inner shoulder.

 

“Thank you.”

 

With his left hand, Bucky reached up and ran his metal fingers through Steve’s hair, before he placed a single kiss of his own to the top of Steve’s head, and let him go. Then he picked up his toolkit, and left the kitchen to take it back up into his bedroom.

 

***

 

In the end, it was Bucky’s own fault. After knowing someone for almost a century, he should have known better. It was never going to be as straightforward as simply showing Steve the inner workings of his arm and what he had to do in order to maintain it. Because of course Steve wasn’t just going to let it go; he was going to push and press and stick his big fat nose where it didn’t belong, and insist on becoming involved. It was unavoidable, and Bucky really should have known better.

 

But because it was Steve, he did it in his own way; stubbornness mixed with determination and cunning, but all of it overlaid with attention, concern and love. Bucky supposed he couldn’t blame him. When they’d been growing up, and Bucky had first come to truly understand all of the health issues Steve had to deal with, he spent hours on his own in their local library, researching asthma, partial deafness, scoliosis, heart conditions and anything else he could find that would help him understand, be prepared to handle any of the multitude of issues he had quickly come to realize Steve constantly faced. There had been a lot of information, much of it over Bucky’s seven-eight-nine-ten year old head. He also spent a lot of time sitting with Sarah, asking her question after question about Steve, and what he needed to be aware of in order to help, to recognize any symptom and how to respond to prevent it from getting worse. Sarah had been bemused by all of his endless inquiries at first. That had quickly transformed into gratefulness once she realized Bucky didn’t view Steve as someone who was weak and helpless, but who had conditions that would make his life more challenging than most. There was someone else out there, first Bucky, and then the rest of the Barneses, who loved and cared for her son, and with that love and care came protection and an honest desire to help. So she spent hours sitting with Bucky and Steve at her kitchen table, even smaller and more worn than the one in his family’s apartment, answering all of Bucky’s questions. She patiently provided him with step by step lists of all the things he needed to do in order to help in case Steve had an asthma attack, an infection or was running a high fever. Bucky spent many an afternoon, while Sarah was at work, looking after Steve, preparing him teas, patting his back, and making sure to give him all the medicines he needed. It wasn’t out of some sense of duty or obligation, but because Steve was his friend. That’s what you did for your friends, your family, somebody who (already a truth in Bucky’s childhood heart) was your own. And Stevie was his own, so of course Bucky would do whatever was necessary in order to care for him.

 

Besides, the sooner Stevie got better, the sooner the two of them could go back to running wild in the streets, finding new things to discover and explore, Stevie of course getting them into more fights and trouble than was good for them.

 

But Bucky was also Steve’s own, had been as much as Steve had been Bucky’s ever since they first met. Nearly a hundred years later, and that hadn’t changed. Had only become a deeper truth, vaster and more undeniable than anything most people would ever be able to comprehend.

 

Steve had been unusually calm and placid about the entire affair, asking a few more questions, but leaving it at that after that first Friday morning. Bucky should have known it was only Steve leading him to a false sense of security, a tactic he had always been known for when facing insurmountable challenges, especially during the war. Bucky wondered if the rest of the Avengers were aware of just how sneaky Steve could be. He knew how to use his seemingly so easy-going charm and smiles not to force them to see his way and agree to whatever he had decided was the right course of action to take, but to convince them that had been their opinion from the beginning, not realizing that Steve had been shepherding them around to his way of thinking all along. He was a sneaky bastard, but good at what he did. Bucky was just eternally grateful Steve had chosen to use all his powers for good.

 

So Bucky really shouldn’t have been surprised when a few Fridays after that first one, he came down into the kitchen, his kit in hand, to find Steve sitting at the table, waiting for him.

 

“Uh-huh,” Bucky grunted, heading to the cabinet where he stored the bleach towelettes he used to wipe down the table and all of his tools. Steve didn’t even pretend to hide what he was doing, merely smiled a sly, knowing little smile in Bucky’s direction with a tiny shrug.

 

“Don’t you have to go visit your teammates?” Bucky tried, as he moved the salt and pepper shakers and napkin holder to one of the counters, before he began the slow and thorough process of wiping everything down.

 

“Funny that,” Steve tossed back easily. “It appears as if my schedule’s changed, and they aren’t going to be needing me there today.”

 

“Yeah, funny that.” Bucky tossed the wipe into the trash, and pulled out a second one, repeating the process. He needed to be absolutely certain everything was as clean as possible; he knew from personal experience that even the smallest speck of dust, dander or cat hair could disrupt the process, especially when he opened the inner access panel of his shoulder. He was more meticulous about it than HYDRA had ever been, but that was probably why the arm functioned even better than it had.

 

“I’m on flex time now,” Steve added, as Bucky sat, opening and then carefully positioning his toolkit so everything would be in easy reach. “So, you know, if I suddenly need to be home on Thursdays, or Tuesdays, or even Sunday night at three in the morning, I will be.” It was as if the bastard could read his mind. Bucky sighed and just accepted that yeah, really, it was his own damned fault.

 

“Does it bother you that I’m here?” Steve asked quietly a few minutes later, after everything had been laid out so Bucky could begin. “Because if it does, I’ll go. I just thought –“

 

“It’s fine Steve.” Bucky rolled his eyes at him. “It’s my owned damned fault anyway. Should have known better by now.”

 

“Yeah, you really should have,” Steve responded with a small and knowing smile. But then he sat back, all seriousness, and waited for Bucky to begin.

 

 He was unusually quiet as he watched. Bucky knew he had caught Steve off guard that first time, but now that the initial surprise had worn off, he was going to focus on observing, studying, analyzing what he saw. He only interjected with a few questions every now and then –

 

“Why do you do this in the kitchen?”

 

“Light’s best, and it’s the cleanest room in the house.”

 

and

 

“You’re not adjusting anything this time. Why not?”

 

“Doesn’t need any adjustments this time. This is just maintenance to make sure it stays that way.”

 

“How can you tell?”

 

“Just can. Feedback loop in my brain.”

 

\- but by and large, he was mostly quiet. He sat and he watched, and if Bucky’s attention hadn’t been focused on the gears in his arm, he knew he would have been able to hear the ones turning in Steve’s brain.

 

A few weeks after that, when Bucky came down to the kitchen with his toolkit, Steve was once again waiting. But the table had been cleared, and Bucky could tell from the pungent scent of bleach in the air it had already been wiped down. He didn’t say a word that time, but he did hand Bucky the correct tool before Bucky reached for it, giving each a careful glance, and then replacing it to its exact spot in the kit once Bucky was done.

 

The fourth time, he asked more questions, precise and thoughtful, especially once he realized Bucky wasn’t just doing maintenance, but adjusting the gears.

 

“Why?”

 

“Weight’s different. Always need to adjust whenever I’ve lost or gained a few pounds,” was Bucky’s answer. Bodies weren’t static, not even theirs. The slightest change could affect the interface with his arm. The past week hadn’t been the best. There had been a few nightmares; nothing that caused Bucky to scream in the night, but enough to increase his heart rate and make sleep difficult. Bucky spent an evening or two up on the roof, smoking while he watched the moon, Steve by his side, Bucky’s most steady and constant companion, even during the darkest of nights.

 

“Did HYDRA do this every time they pulled you from cryo?” was Steve’s next question. Bucky hissed through his teeth.

 

“Their answer to everything was to tighten the gears. They seemed to think the tighter they were, the faster I’d be. They never considered pain,” Bucky told him. “And that’s really the biggest difference. The less pain I’m in, the better my arm works.”

 

“Bucky,” Steve whispered, in that tone that let Bucky know Steve’s heart was breaking, all over again, for something that was, and had always been, beyond Steve’s control.

 

“It is what it is Stevie.” It was another truth, a brutal, vicious and bitter one, but still a truth. Bucky had learned to accept it. Steve needed to as well.

 

“I fucking hate it.”

 

“Yeah well, that doesn’t change anything, does it?” Bucky told him and took breath. “Now hand me the probe, I need to run the diagnostic.”

 

The fifth time….

 

The fifth time, Bucky sat perfectly still, his head lowered but his eyes on Steve as, for the first time ever, Steve actually did the maintenance himself. He asked if he could, felt he had observed and learned enough to be able to do it himself, and would Bucky let him do this for him. Bucky had stared at him, his eyes narrowed, feeling what little bit was left of what had once been the Asset raise itself within and take notice.

 

But Steve was not a HYDRA mad scientist, or a technician only interested in the mechanics and not the person the arm was attached to. Steve was his friend, his lover, and he was asking not because he wanted to make sure that Bucky would perform optimally during his next assignment, but because he loved and he worried. And this, this was a part of Bucky as well, no longer the curious and wide eyed boy asking Steve’s mother question after question about Steve’s various illness and conditions. He wanted to care for and offer that same concern and prove he could be trusted, even with this. It was his turn now.

 

So Bucky had consented. And now, here they were.

 

Steve’s work was knowing and surprisingly gentle. He had spent the past couple of months watching Bucky do this, and his memory was as eidetic as Bucky’s. He went slowly, but was thorough, and always showed Bucky which tool he was going to use, quietly telling Bucky his next step. He didn’t order Bucky to open the inner access panels, patiently waiting for Bucky to release them, not moving until Bucky nodded and indicated he was ready for Steve to proceed.

 

“I know you don’t like this part,” Steve said, as he lifted the probe that would test all of the relays. “So let me know when you’re ready.” Bucky took a deep breath, watching Steve as he raised his hands and inserted the rod into its data port. And he was gentle, so gentle, gentler than Bucky had ever been. The drive connected into place with a nearly silent click, and then Steve took Bucky’s right hand into his own, a steady pressure that almost, almost made it easy for Bucky to bear.

 

There was only one glitch, when Steve tightened one of the many clasps in Bucky’s shoulder too tightly, and Bucky flinched. Steve immediately reversed what he had done, swearing to Bucky it was an accident, and he hadn’t meant to hurt him, he never meant to hurt him, and _oh god Bucky, he was so sorry_.

 

“It’s okay Stevie. Calm down. I’ve done worse myself when I was first figuring it out. It’s alright.”

 

And it was. Because as he sat there at their kitchen table that early Friday morning, Bucky discovered that being next to someone you had always trusted, while they adjusted the mechanics of your arm, a war wound that would never heal but would always need care, could be an act of love. As soothing as a hand running down your back, or fingers stroking your hair. Compassion and kindness, yet another ribbon of gold to wrap around a bond that was already as deep and as far reaching as the roots of the oldest oak.

 

Ten minutes later, when they were done, after Steve cleaned and replaced all of the items in their proper place within the kit, instead of bringing it back to his room, Bucky handed it to Steve.

 

“Here, you keep it,” was all he said.

 

“Really Buck?” Steve asked, but he was cradling it in his hands as if it was something precious, sacred, and not a set of tools Bucky had taken from the people who had spent decades abusing and torturing him.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “I got three more sets that I managed to obtain.” Steve snorted at his use of the word obtain, when they both knew what Bucky really meant was _steal_. “Two more are stashed in the house, and I keep the last one in my go bag.” Along with some cash, several guns with ammo, knives, a box of Thin Mint cookies, and oh yeah, some clothes and another fake ID, Bucky didn’t bother to add, even though he knew Steve already knew. The last time he felt the need to double-check his supplies and clean his weapons, he had lifted the carpet in the hallway in their foyer to find a newly installed trap door, practically invisible to the eye, with a Post It note carefully taped to the upper right-hand corner that read, _Press here, because I am tired of replacing the damned floorboards_. Bucky tapped the corner lightly, and the panel swung easily open with barely a sound. When he lifted his bag, pinned to one of the straps had been another note that read, _And seriously Bucky, eight guns, sixteen knives, but no underwear? This is why I was Captain, Sarge._ Opening the rucksack, Bucky discovered Steve had made a few additions of his own, including a small, but well-stocked first aid kit, a rechargeable flashlight, emergency radio (Bucky knew that Steve would have its twin, stashed somewhere in the house), and an unopened packet of underwear. At least he left the cookies alone. Bucky had laughed for a solid ten minutes, and accepting his defeat, cleaned his guns and then replaced everything exactly where it had been, next to a second bag that had not been there before. Because of course… _Stevie._ If he had been extra merciless that night, almost bringing Steve to orgasm but pulling back at the last moment at least four times, well, that was Steve’s fault for being a busy-body know-it-all.

 

But in the here and now, it was a different moment, perhaps not as light-hearted, but just as true and full of understanding.

 

“And if you’re going to be the one who helps me to take care of the arm, then you should have your own set,” Bucky finished.

 

Steve was quiet, but by the blush slowly rising on his cheeks, it was obvious what Bucky had just done was something he considered both a privilege and a gift.

 

Until he had to open his mouth and ruin it.

 

“Well, I was the one who found the kitchen table after all. I might as well have one of these as well.” He was all cheek and self-satisfied pride.

 

“Oh my god, you are such an asshole!”

 

“Admit it, that old table was a piece of shit. This one’s so much better.”

 

“You know what? I changed my mind. Give that back.” Bucky reached for the toolkit, but Steve dodged out of his way and spun around.

 

“Just admit it, I was right.” Steve laughed as he backed away, tossing the case from hand to hand.

 

“You’re a dumbass is what you are.” Bucky lunged for the kit, but Steve only ducked around to the other side of the table.

 

“Come on Buck, you can do it,” Steve continued. “ _Why yes Stevie, you were right. You’re always right, and the table is great. I should always listen to you._ You’ve had plenty of practise by now.”

 

“You were the one who said I could use the table to jack off under.” Bucky circled around said table, occasionally reaching out in an attempt to swipe the bag from Steve. “You were thinking about me jacking off even back then, weren’t you, you pervert.”

 

“Well you were the one who told me you could make the plates in your arm vibrate! What the hell was I supposed to think about?” Steve blurted. At his words, they both froze. “Um…”

 

“Still gotta thing for my arm Stevie?” Bucky could not believe what he was saying. Especially when, well, he had wondered about it himself. Maybe. Once or twice. Not that he would admit it, and definitely not now. “Too bad for you _my arm is not a sex toy!”_

 

“Are you sure about that? Because according to Dewy if you did the same with your arm that you do whenever you hold Nina-“ Steve suddenly stopped, realizing he had just gone too far.

 

“You talked to Dewy about my arm?”

 

“Nooooo…” Steve trailed off, but the bastard, the goddamned sneaky, lying, what-the-hell-had-Bucky-done-in-a-past-life-to-deserve-this-sonovabitch was starting to grin.

 

“That’s it! _Give! It! Back!_ ” Bucky lunged, vaulting over that damned table he suddenly hated, to grab for Steve, preferably his throat. Steve turned and dashed out of the kitchen, the toolkit in his hands, Bucky in hot pursuit, Steve laughing the entire time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Steve are taking a quick break from chasing each other around the house to say thank you for all of the wonderful New Years wishes. Steve's resolution this year is to find more time for himself, so he can devote it to the things that matter most. Bucky thinks his resolution should be try to be less of a dumbass. Steve takes it all back and says his new resolution is to not sleep with jerks. Bucky thinks Steve is spending too much time looking in the mirror....and they're off again, back to chasing each other around the house. 
> 
> Thank you everyone for all of the wonderful New Years wishes. I wish the same to you and yours. 
> 
> And to any lurkers or anyone too shy to leave a comment **waves**. Thank you for reading and I wish you nothing but the best for 2019.


	21. A Return To Beginnings

In the end, it was Steve’s own fault.

 

After knowing someone for almost a century, he should have known better. But well, teasing Bucky was something he’d always enjoyed doing, since they were kids. Just because it was over a century later and they were both grown men, didn’t mean Steve had any intentions of stopping. And it was rare, truly rare, for him to get the upper hand, because Bucky could give shit like no one else. It was an art, a hobby, a part of his personality that simply would not be denied. As kids, Steve had relished it, because it meant Bucky saw him not as someone who was weaker, or needed to coddled, handled with care, but someone with a sharp mind, able to take whatever was given and throw it back just as readily. Easier for him to use than his fists, back in those days, but they had both ended up in many a brawl because Steve had never known when to quit, it was true. But he’d never been alone, had always had someone willing to stand up for him and guard his back, the little guy, and Steve wondered if Bucky knew how much his presence in Steve’s life when they were younger had shaped him into the man he’d become. But Bucky had always been able to hold his own, been the sneakier of the two of them, no matter what he may have claimed, and Steve really should have known better than to tease Bucky about his arm. Because Bucky would have his revenge; it was unavoidable, and Steve really should have known better.

 

Not that he was complaining.

 

Bucky’s revenge was the reason why Steve now found himself on his knees in their bed, his hands in a white knuckled grip on the headboard. Behind him, Bucky pounded into his body, his hips a heavy _slap, slap, slap_ against Steve’s ass. His dick was an endless and relentless slam against that one, glorious spot in Steve’s body, while he worked on wringing a fifth orgasm from Steve. While very deliberately _not_ using his left arm as a sex toy.

 

It wasn’t that he refused to use it; there were already bruises on Steve’s hip from where Bucky had clasped to hold him still (had that been the second or the third orgasm?), and he had used it in combination with his right hand to spread Steve open while he licked and lapped his spend from Steve’s ass (that had been orgasm number four). He had used both his hands again to press Steve down into the bed and score his back with long, red trails (who knew what orgasm that had been. Steve just hoped the marks never faded). And he was using it now to clench Steve’s hair, pulling his head back so that he could lick and nip and bite at Steve’s neck. All while whispering filthy little secrets into Steve’s ear, because one of the first things they had both discovered was that Steve had a _thing_ for dirty talk. Nothing vulgar or crude, but hot little whispers, heated words of praise, and secret, craven promises.

 

‘ _Oh, look at you Stevie, you just love this, don’t do. I could finger you all fucking day, just to watch your eyes turn that color._ ’

 

and

 

‘ _Mmmm Stevie, you taste so good, all hot and wet with my come dripping out of your ass like that. I’m gonna go in deep, cos I wanna make sure I get every, single, last drop._ ’

 

and

 

‘ _One last lick Stevie, just one more, and then it’ll be my dick next. I promise._ ’

 

And holy shit, did those words uttered in Bucky’s raspy voice, even lower than usual whenever they came together like this, set Steve’s blood on fire. Because they were honest, not some trick or play or false praise given to get what he wanted out of Steve. Bucky meant every word he said. He adored Steve, and loved to show that adoration by worshipping Steve’s body, making it sing like it never had before.

 

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t tease, or prolong just the right stroke in order to make Steve shiver the way he wanted. But even that was a gift, a way to give them what they both wanted, using their flesh and blood and sweat and skin to say _I love you_ when those words had never really been needed between them.

 

“Are you close Stevie?” Bucky asked him now, his chest pressed to Steve’s back as he leaned over to whisper into his ear.

 

“Uh-huh. Please Bucky, please, please, please, please, _pleasepleaseplease_ ,” Steve heard himself begging. At his words, Bucky laughed, nipped Steve’s ear ever so sharply, and then rested back on his knees.

 

“Hmmmm,” he hummed. “What number’s this one? Four is it?”

 

“Five,” Steve panted back.

 

“Ah, that’s right. Five. And all without using my left arm,” Bucky purred. “I don’t need to use my arm to make you scream. The next time you talk to Dewy about our sex life, make sure you tell her _that_.”

 

Steve had been joking when he’d made that comment. They were always open and honest about how they felt about each other, and never hid their affection when they were with their family. But some things were private and precious, and Steve would have never violated the sanctity of what they did together by sharing it with anyone. It had been a joke, meant to rile Bucky up, and it worked. And right now, Steve had no complaints, none whatsoever.

 

That was the last thought Steve had, before he felt Bucky shift. He grasped Steve’s hips in his hands, and then really let loose, pounding into Steve’s body with enough force to slam the bed against the wall with each forward thrust.

 

Flesh and blood, sweat and skin, fire and star-shine, and Steve was soaring, flying, reaching for those stars, feeling the spark that roared up from within and crashed through his body like thunder, like lighting, like a sudden crack that shook the entire room.

 

Except the crack hadn’t been from his body, and when Steve opened his eyes, they were still moving, in spite of the fact that Bucky had gone still behind him. His fingertips were digging deep into Steve’s hips, and he was starting to laugh, that sound that Steve loved and always waited for, no matter what they were doing. But it abruptly stopped, and then Steve was suddenly being crushed by Bucky’s weight on his back. There was a startled “ _Oomph!_ ” followed by a confused, “ _What the fuck?_ ” half a second later.

 

Steve opened his eyes, lifting his head. Glancing up, he realized they were lower than when they started, and the headboard he’d been gripping was a lot higher than before, tilting toward him at a perilous angle.

 

“You okay Stevie?”

 

“Um, did we just break the bed?” Steve asked instead of answering.

 

Behind him, he felt Bucky shift as he took a careful look around.

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Maybe?”

 

“Um,” it was Bucky’s turn to say. “Well, we’re now on the floor and I think the window’s higher than it was when we started.” And then Bucky started to laugh. “Holy shit Stevie, we broke the fucking bed.”

 

Steve lifted his head even further, taking another look around. And yep, they were on the floor and the window was definitely higher than it had been just a few minutes ago.

 

“Are you going to tell Dewy about this or am I?” Steve managed to get out before he too couldn’t help himself and started to laugh.

 

“Are you okay?” Bucky asked again between his snorts, pressing a quick kiss to the back of Steve’s neck. Steve took a minute to consider before he answered.

 

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he giggled. “But I don’t think I can say the same about the bed.”

 

“We fucked it to death.”

 

“Oh my god Bucky, shut up!”

 

“Admit it, you’re kinda proud of that.”

 

“Yeah, I really kinda am.”

 

They spent the next ten minutes in a twisted and contorted heap of uncontrollable laughter, until they were finally, finally able to stop.

 

“Seriously Stevie, are you okay?” Bucky eventually managed to ask.

 

“Yeah Bucky, I’m fine. Didn’t even notice at first, just thought I was having a really great orgasm.” Behind him Bucky snorted.

 

“Me too.”

 

“Wait a minute,” Steve said, coming to a realization. “Are you still inside me?”

 

“Maybe,” Bucky said for the second time that night.

 

“Are you shitting me?”

 

“What can I say? I never once failed a mission in my life. And you gotta really nice ass.”

 

“Well I need you to move, you jerk.” Steve reached back and slapped Bucky’s flank. “Because I’m lying in the wet spot and it’s starting to get cold.”

 

“Yeah, okay,” Bucky’s laughter still shaded the edges of his voice. “Take a deep breath Stevie, and I’ll pull out.” A deep inhale, followed by the gentlest of kisses to the nape of Steve’s neck, and Bucky pulled himself free. By the time Steve was able to roll over, Bucky was already wiping himself clean. Using Steve’s t-shirt of course. The fucking bastard. At Steve’s arched eyebrow, Bucky shrugged. “What? We already broke the bed. What difference does a t-shirt make?”

 

“It makes a difference when it’s mine, asshole,” Steve answered, lifting his hand to catch the shirt when Bucky tossed it to him.

 

“It was your bed too. Figured why not go two for two.”

 

A minute later, they were both standing, naked as the day they were born, watching as the headboard finally gave up the ghost, and collapsed onto the bed with a _whumph_ sound.

 

“Right,” Bucky said. “That’s that then. Now come on. I’m too tired to deal with this shit right now.”

 

Steve followed Bucky into the first bedroom at the end of the hall. Bucky’s bed was solid and large enough to easily accommodate the both of them. Bucky hadn’t slept there once since they became lovers, so the sheets were a bit stale. But the mattress was a perfect combination of firm and soft, even more comfortable than Steve’s. As they crawled under the blankets together, curling around each other as they usually did, Steve decided he didn’t care. He had slept in worse places, and as long as he was surrounded by the cinnamon and clove of Bucky’s skin, he could sleep anywhere.

 

***

 

The next morning, they were back in Steve’s room, staring down at the wreckage that had once been Steve’s bed.

 

“I think we killed it,” Steve said.

 

“Ain’t no thinking about it.” Bucky nudged the headboard with his toe. The bed creaked and then with a final groan collapsed even further in on itself. Steve sighed.

 

“Do you think if I Google 'bed strong enough for two super-soldiers to have sex,' I’ll get any results?” he asked.

 

“Maybe for porn.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve found himself agreeing with Bucky. “That’s what I thought.”

 

“I kinda feel like I should put on my dress blues and salute.”

 

“I’m sure I can find Taps somewhere on Youtube,” Steve agreed. Then he sighed again. “If I ask Pepper, she’ll probably know of a place that makes something strong enough. She was the one who picked out all the furniture for Bruce after all.”

 

“The Hulk dude?”

 

“Yeah, him.”

 

“I dunno Steve. Do you really wanna explain to her why you need a bed strong enough for the Hulk?”

 

“Bucky, the less I know about what happens in the Hulk’s bedroom, the happier we’ll all be.”

 

“I’m just sayin’.” Bucky glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “And seriously Stevie, are you really going to make me haul another bed up three goddamned flights of stairs? Getting this one up here was a bitch and a half.”

 

“You got any better ideas?”

 

Bucky heaved an exasperated sigh. “You really are such a fucking dumbass sometimes, you know that?”

 

“What?” Steve asked, turning away from the bed to glance at Bucky.

 

“We got a perfectly good bedroom, with a perfectly good bed, right down the hall. Even bigger than this one.” Bucky waved his hand at the door. “Unless you’ve got some unrequited attachment to this room I don’t know about, we just move all your crap into my bedroom and it’ll be fine.”

 

And that was how they spent the rest of the afternoon. After they disassembled the remains of Steve’s bed, and dragged them downstairs to the trash, they set about transferring all of Steve’s things into the bright and airy, yellow and blue room at the end of the hall.

 

The room had been Steve’s first gift to Bucky before he was even aware he had been courting him. When Steve prepared the room, in a desperate hope Bucky would come home, he made sure to fill it with things he prayed would not only match what he remembered of Bucky’s tastes, but also be suitable for someone of Bucky’s height and weight. He had wanted it to be a welcoming space, filled with soft things where Bucky would be able to find comfort and safety; a lure he hoped would be enough to make Bucky want to stay.

 

All the furniture was handcrafted and well-made, carefully chosen personally by Steve to be appealing. It was a nice room, Steve’s favorite in the house if he were honest, because it held all his memories of the life he and Bucky had shared together before war and its loss had ravaged them both. Bucky had changed some of what Steve had done, but not by much. There was a bookshelf he added, its shelves crammed with all of Bucky’s favorites, old and new. On the walls hung a neat series of Steve’s framed sketches, Bucky’s personal cherished selections from the ones Steve had given him. He had added a few more pictures to the top of the bureau; the first picture Dewy had ever sent Steve, of Bucky holding Nina in the delivery room. Two more of Steve holding Nina himself. One of him and Joey, one of him and Dewy, and one of his entire family, Steve included, gathered together for a Sunday dinner. On his nightstand, there were four frames, various pictures of just him and Steve, one with Bucky’s arms draped over Steve’s shoulder, one from the exhibit at the Smithsonian, one caught mid-motion as Steve kissed Bucky’s cheek, and one with the two of them just smiling at each other. That one was Steve’s favorite, the love they had for each other evident in their expressions, that someone in their family must have snapped when neither of them were aware. Steve hadn’t known Bucky even had these photos, moments from their lives Bucky decided were important enough to keep.

 

Aside from that, the only other difference to the room was the wall and the ceiling, where Steve had painted a mural of adoration, apology and forgiveness, and promised to love and keep safe all that Bucky ever had been, was now, and ever would be.

 

It was a beautiful room, even with, especially with, all of the changes Bucky had made. Steve could easily see himself sharing it with Bucky, like they shared the rest of the house. So they shifted and they moved and they switched a few things out. Bucky was neater than Steve, the room less cluttered as a result, but that gave them more options and space to work with. Steve’s bureau and his own bookshelf (filled mostly with art books and his own sketchpads) were an easy fit. They agreed Steve had the nicer nightstands, so they traded those out, Bucky letting Steve pick two of the four photos from his to keep on his. He even went so far as to allow Steve to change some of the sketches, not disrupting the order, but replacing a few with his own favorites. The closet was a bit trickier, but they quickly determined if they separated the clothes by season, and kept the ones they weren’t using in the closet in Steve’s room, they would have plenty of space for everything they each would need. They cleared a small area specifically for Steve’s shield, and Bucky even informed Steve where he had stored most (but not all, Bucky was still a bit secretive about where he had stashed all his weapons) of his guns. A few more items, a couple of additional exchanges, and just like that, by the early evening they had shifted not the entirety, but all the most important parts of their lives, into the biggest bedroom at the end of the hall on the third floor, where they slept together as they once had, and the sunlight poured in through the same window it had over eighty years ago.

 

A life so different and yet so similar to the one they once shared, Steve thought as he waited for Bucky to climb into bed with him. But nothing he would have ever imagined as being possible back during those days when this room had been their shelter from all of the poverty and desperation around them. It had been filled with love then, and it was filled with love now.

 

And a lot more cat hair.

 

Because of course, _of course_ , thanks to Bucky, there wasn’t a single goddamned room in the house that didn’t also belong to the Pizzas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so I know I say this a lot, but OMG everyone, I am SO EXCITED about posting the next chapter. Because you are finally, FINALLY going to meet The Pizzas! 
> 
> Feel sorry for Steve. So, so, SO sorry for Steve. XD
> 
> And hugs and love and thanks once again for all of the wonderful comments. Y'all really are the best. <3


	22. The Pizzas

For as long as Steve could remember, Bucky had always loved animals. When they’d been kids, there wasn’t a dog he didn’t stop to pet or a stray cat he wouldn’t leave a tiny bit of meat, that he’d specifically saved from his lunch, for. He’d been the same during the war; he’d share scraps from his own rations with the multitude of abandoned and starving dogs that tended to congregate around bases or the demolished villages they sometimes used for camps. It had probably been the fact Steve had been defending a stray cat from the neighborhood bullies Sean and Donal why Bucky had jumped in to defend him. Afterwards, once he pulled Steve to his feet and dusted him off, he had crouched next to the nearby trash bins and held his hand out, making soft clicking noises with his teeth for a solid sixty seconds before the rangy, grey tomcat, that had been the catalyst for it all, slowly crawled out, and allowed Bucky to scritch his cheeks.

 

Steve knew Bucky would have loved to have had a cat when they first started living together back in the thirties. But money had been tight, desperately so, and Steve’s severe allergic reaction had made that an impossibility.

 

It wasn’t something the two of them ever discussed in the here and now, and Steve hadn’t even thought about it. Until one day, Bucky made a discovery and a decision for the both of them.

 

It had been a long day, and Steve would readily admit he was exhausted. But there had been a charity event that Pepper, after hearing about what happened to Sam and the vet he’d been counseling, had been putting together for the past several months. Pepper was by far the most organized and determined person Steve ever met, and Steve knew once she set her mind to something, any results she achieved would by far exceed anyone’s expectations. So she had called, and organized, and charmed, and made promises and pulled in favors, and instructed her publicity team to put together the biggest event focusing on VA services New York City had seen in the past forty years. It was the must have invitation of the social season, the crème de la crème of New York’s high society all desperate for an invite and a chance to rub shoulders with the guest of honor; Steven Grant Rogers, Captain America.

 

Steve had been more than happy to help, thrilled with Pepper’s enthusiasm. His only caveat had been that his presence did not overshadow the real reason they were there, and that Sam, as well as other vets who wished to, were given the opportunity to speak of their struggles and the difficulties they faced as they attempted to return to civilian life.

 

The night had been an overwhelming success, with enough funds raised to provide support for a multitude of programs for quite some time to come. The only downside was that Bucky couldn’t be there. Steve and Tony were slowly starting to rebuild their friendship, although it was tenuous at best. But there was still the issue of Bucky’s past and how they were going to work on rebuilding his identity. (Steve had spent many an hour in secret conversations with Pepper discussing options, as she quietly put together a legal team that would be able to help. She was certain they would be able to do it, but that was contingent upon Bucky being willing to discuss all that had been done to him and everything he still knew about HYDRA, something Bucky was, as of yet, refusing to do. Too much fear and pain and lack of trust in the world and himself for him to face just yet.) But Bucky would have understood how, while Steve smiled and took pictures and spoke with everyone who wanted just a few minutes of his time, inwardly he was cringing. It was for a great cause, but Bucky was probably the only one in the world who would know how exhausting Steve always found the excessive public attention.

 

But he had smiled and fixed Steve’s hair and adjusted his tie before he sent him on his way with a kiss. Eight hours later, when Steve had finally gotten home, Bucky wasn’t there. He texted Lulu, but she hadn’t seen him either. It was a bit unusual these days for Bucky to not let him know where he was, but it did happen from time to time; when he discovered a new restaurant, wanted to explore a different area of the city, or just needed some space and went out for a walk or run on his own. Steve shrugged, took off his suit and decided to take a shower to wash away the day.

 

It was just after midnight and Steve was fixing himself a sandwich, when Bucky finally came home, calling for Steve.

 

“In the kitchen,” Steve answered.

 

“I need you to get the truck, cos we need to go to the hospital,” Bucky said.

 

“What’s the matter? Are you alright?” Steve was immediately afraid. Had something happened? Was Bucky hurt? As Bucky slid into the kitchen, Steve ran his eyes over him. He didn’t appear injured or sick, and Steve didn’t see any blood.

 

“What? No, I’m fine. But we gotta hurry, because I don’t think they’re doing so well.” Bucky’s answer only confused Steve further. But then he took a second look, and noticed Bucky was hunched over slightly, his arms wrapped carefully around his stomach, holding the lower edge of his shirt over a loose bundle. Which was… _wriggling?_

 

Steve took a cautious step closer, peering carefully at the squirming lump, and that was the exact moment when Steve heard a teeny, tiny squeak. He glanced up at Bucky to find his eyes were wide and imploring, and…and…

 

Worried.

 

“Stevie,” he whispered. “ _Please._ ”

 

That was how Steve found himself in his SUV, driving to an emergency vet clinic in downtown Brooklyn in the middle of the night. Next to him, Bucky sat with a blanket lined box in his lap that held four very tiny, malnourished (and flea infested) kittens, while he explained that he had gone out for a run and was cutting through an alleyway on his way home when he’d heard a tiny whimper. Deciding to check the source of the sound, Bucky found the four kittens behind a dumpster, next to the body of their mother.

 

“I think she was hit by a car,” Bucky said softly, “and was trying to get back to her babies. But…”

 

And Bucky being Bucky, well, he couldn’t just leave them there.

 

Thankfully the staff at the clinic was extremely professional and thorough in their examination. And once they realized it was Captain America who had brought in a box of homeless kittens, Steve thought they were all going to go into hyperglycemic shock from all of the _oohing_ and _aawing_ they did.

 

The veterinarian determined the kittens (who looked more like furry worms with tiny stubs for legs to Steve than actual cats) were barely two weeks old. And wasn’t it a wonderful thing _Steve_ had found them and decided to bring them in (even though it was _Bucky_ who kept peering over the vet’s shoulder in concern while she worked) because they most certainly would have died if left there out on their own for much longer. Steve saw the way Bucky’s skin blanched at her words, and knew he was in trouble.

 

After the kittens had been weighed and cleaned and given tiny bottles of synthetic kitten milk, it was explained to both of them that the kittens were too young to be adopted, and fosters would have to be found. It might take some time, but _‘Don’t worry Captain America, they had a list of very reliable volunteers they could call, and of course they would keep the kittens here until they found someone who would take care of the them until they could be adopted. Although that would more than likely be into separate homes._ ’ That was when Bucky, who had been sitting on the floor with the now sleeping and quiet kittens in his lap, looked up and spoke for the first time.

 

“We’re keeping them,” he declared.

 

“Are you sure?” The vet, a Dr. Brigande, asked hesitantly. “Fostering newborn kittens is a lot of work, especially if you don’t have any experience and–“

 

“We’re keeping them.” And oh, _hello_ , there was the Winter Soldier making an appearance after all this time. Except instead of a knife, he was cradling a pile of sleeping kittens in his lap.

 

Steve just sighed. Because of course they were keeping the kittens. _Of course_ they were.

 

A set of detailed instructions, a case of kitten milk, a long list of all the things they would need to purchase once their nearest pet store opened, and a huge charge to Steve’s credit card later, they were back in Steve’s SUV, making the drive home, Bucky now cooing down at the box of kittens he hadn’t let go of.

 

“Thanks Stevie,” Bucky said quietly when Steve finally parked the truck. Steve just sighed again.

 

Except…

 

Except.

 

The kittens were actually _adorable._ And watching Bucky take care of them was, was…

 

Well, it was the cutest thing Steve had ever seen.

 

Because Bucky didn’t just take care of them. _Oh no._ He fussed and he spoiled and he cooed and he purred and he mothered those little furballs as if he had given birth to them himself. The next morning they drove to the nearest Petco, where Bucky stocked the cart with enough scratching posts, bowls, brushes, toys, feathered wands, cat towers, bottles and nipples, and treats to supply an entire zoo. He ignored Steve every time he rolled his eyes and just kept adding more items to the wagon. And when they returned home, he focused on turning their row house into a kitten proof paradise with an attention to detail Steve had never seen.

 

Steve could understand it, but still, there had to be some limits. And Steve was fine with the kittens, he really was, as long as Bucky agreed to follow a few simple rules. Such as:

 

_The kittens were not allowed in their bedroom._

 

That one lasted all of half an evening, when two hours after they had gotten home and set the kittens up in a tiny pen in the third bedroom on their upstairs floor, the kittens woke and started to mewl piteously. When Steve tried to hold fast to his rule, with a disappointed frown, Bucky had gotten up, taken his pillow and half of their blankets and left the room. The next morning, Steve found him sleeping on the bedroom floor, curled around a nest of blankets and pillows and kittens.

 

They moved the pen into their bedroom the very next day.

 

_Okay, so the kittens were allowed in their bedroom, as long as they didn’t sleep in their bed._

 

Two nights after that, Steve woke up to the sound of meeping, and the feeling of four wriggling little bodies against his hip. When he complained to Bucky about it, he was informed he had told Bucky he could do whatever he wanted with the bedroom when Bucky had first come home. What Bucky wanted to do was sleep with kittens. If Steve didn’t like it, well, Bucky was sure he could call and ask Pepper where she purchased a bed for the Hulk, since Steve was going to be moving back into his bedroom.

 

The kittens slept in their bed ever since.

 

_Okay, so the kittens were allowed in their bedroom, and could sleep in their bed, but they were not, they were absolutely not, going to feed them any table scraps._

 

That one lasted a few weeks, and Steve thought it was actually going to stick. Until he came home one day and found Bucky in the kitchen, cutting a cooked chicken breast into teeny, tiny cubes while the kittens danced at his feet and took turns climbing his legs.

 

“Really Bucky?” Steve asked.

 

“What?” Bucky didn’t even bother to look up from what he was doing. “They’re old enough for solid food now. And if it’s good enough for you, it _might_ be good enough for them. You weren’t going to eat it anyway.”

 

Steve just sighed.

 

_Okay, so the kittens were allowed in their bedroom, and could sleep in their bed, and people food was okay, but only as a treat and in minimal doses, but they were not, they were absolutely not allowed on any of the counters or furniture._

Yeah, Steve didn’t know why he bothered with that one. Cats were cats, even kittens, and they would do as they pleased, and go where they wanted to go. Especially when their primary care taker always laughed and praised them when he found one of the little furry bastards on top of a bookshelf, climbing the curtains, or in the basket of Steve’s just-pulled-from-the-dryer laundry.

 

Steve probably would have been jealous with the way Bucky took care of those kittens, how he fawned and cooed and spoiled them to his heart’s content, except, well…

 

He kind of really loved those kittens himself.

 

Because they were soft and furry and adorable. Once they were old enough, they got into everything and were mischievous, and the two of them could spend hours just watching them chase and pounce and play. Bucky hadn’t been the only one who had spent time with the kittens cradled in his hands, with a small bottle, making sure they were fed every few hours. Nor was he the only one who learned how to use a tiny washcloth to stimulate kitten bodily functions (Steve had never been so thankful in his life when the kittens finally figured out how to use a litterbox). And it wasn’t just Bucky who cooed while he brushed them, lifting them to his face so he could bop their noses with his own.

 

“Uh-huh,” Bucky grunted at him the day he came home from a run to Costco with Lulu to find Steve lying on their bedroom floor while a menagerie of kittens tried to climb Steve’s chest.

 

“Shut up,” had been Steve’s reply. “This is all your fault.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Bucky said again, and pulled out his cell and snapped a photo.

 

Of course, Bucky being Bucky, when he named them, less than a day after they had brought them home, he couldn’t just give them normal names, like Mittens or Fluffy or Whiskers. Oh no. When Bucky named the kittens, he ended up naming them after pizza toppings.

 

There was Mushroom, the little tortoiseshell male with white feet.

 

And Sausage, a tuxedo with a white splotch on his nose.

 

Pepperoni, the only female in the group, a marmalade who already had a long and fluffy coat, with white tufts of fur sticking out of her ears.

 

And Meatball, the last of the litter, an all-black nasty little sonovabitch, who hissed and spit and swiped at everyone’s ankles, except, of course, for Bucky. Whenever Bucky picked that tiny bastard up, he turned into a limp noodle who purred like a motorboat while Bucky draped him over his shoulders.

 

“Really Bucky?” Steve asked, watching as Bucky picked each of the kittens up from their pen to place a tiny kiss on their nose as he gifted them with their names. “That’s what you’re going to call them?”

 

“Why not?” Bucky’s voice had been completely nonchalant. “Pizza is life. And everybody knows it’s the toppings that make it even better.”

 

“Whatever you say, Sarge,” Steve sighed. He found himself sighing a lot lately. Bucky ignored him and went back to fawning over his furry little family.

 

But that was okay. Mushroom, Sausage and Meatball may have followed Bucky around the house like he was the Pied Piper of Cats. But whenever Steve was home, little Pepperoni circled his feet, mewling pathetically, until Steve finally bent over and picked her up, where she would curl up happily against his shoulder, her teeny, tiny wet nose pressed against his neck. Steve even learned how to draw while holding her in that position, and the two of them could spend hours in his studio, Steve sketching, and Pepperoni reaching out to bat at his pencil while Steve laughed.

 

“Uh-huh,” Bucky said again from Steve’s studio door, his phone already raised as he took another photo.

 

“Shut up,” was all Steve could say.

 

“Kittens,” Bucky said gently, with a tiny little smile. “It’s a good look on you Stevie.” And then he placed a kiss, easy and carefree, to the very tip of Steve’s nose, before he scritched Pepperoni’s chin, turned around, and left Steve and his little girl to it for the rest of the afternoon.

 

Hence the Pizzas became a permanent part of their lives.

 

A good one, Steve had to admit, because, well, kittens. And it was fun to watch Bucky bond with and spoil the little beasts (because it was one hundred percent only Bucky who spoiled them, not Steve, oh no, he always reminded himself as he made a special stop at Petco on his way home to pick up extra catnip, and _oh look_ , they had remote control mice now, and he just knew the Pizzas were going to get a kick out of that. So what if it was thirty dollars. And hey, that was a cool looking cat tree). Coming home to find Bucky napping in the Lay-Z-Boy with four tiny cats curled up in his lap, or watching him carefully dance around the kitchen to avoid stepping on any little tails or paws while he unpacked their weekly grocery delivery. Running his fingers over Meatball’s slick coat and Pepperoni’s long fur while Steve sat and brushed his hair after a rough night. The sound of Bucky’s laughter whenever the kittens refused to let him change the sheets of their bed. And waking up now to not only the scents of cinnamon and clove clinging to his skin, but quiet purrs and small balls of heat. Tiny little blessings, with more fur than Nina perhaps, but a welcome addition to their collection of treasures, all because of Bucky’s ever generous heart.

 

Steve was especially grateful for them now, as he sat in the large conference room on the Avengers floor of Stark Tower, while Tony rambled on and on about the latest improvements he had made to their communications system, that would increase its speed by .000000000875 percent. Sam and Clint were across from him, not even bothering to hide the game of tic-tac-toe they were playing. Maria was pretending to pay attention, but Steve knew she was really playing Angry Birds on her tablet. Thor, who was there for a visit, wasn’t even trying; his eyes were closed and drool was dripping down his chin, which was cupped in his hand. Natasha had grabbed Wanda and said she needed help following up on lead, but unless the lead was the lunch special at the Chinese restaurant across the street from the Tower, Steve doubted she’d have anything interesting to report when they returned. She hadn’t even bothered trying to hide her smile as she cast Steve a tiny wave as he made his way through security. The only one who was interested in the proceedings was Bruce, and he kept asking question after question about signal strength and relays, power sources and grid modifications, which only caused Tony to launch into another twenty-minute soliloquy about what he had done.

 

At least Steve had Bucky’s texts to keep him occupied to prevent Tony from proving that you could actually kill a super soldier by boring them to death. They were an easy distraction to lose himself to, until Steve received the last one.

 

 **Sergeant Cat Butt** : _Look, it’s a Pizza Pie._

 

Steve glanced at the accompanying image and could not believe what he was seeing.

 

 **Steve:** _Bucky, you did not let the kittens fall asleep in my shield._

 

 **Sergeant Cat Butt** : _=)_

 

 **Steve** : _I swear to god B, if there’s cat hair all over the strapping when I get home, I’m going to murder you in your sleep._

 

In response, Bucky sent him a second picture. And yep, there were definitely four kittens in a sunbeam curled up in the inside of Steve’s shield.

 

 **Sergeant Cat Butt** : _At least we finally found something the shield is useful for. Instead of being a huge shiny white star that shouts hey, look at me, this is where you should aim your guns._

 

 **Steve** : _Dammit Bucky!_

 

It was then Steve noticed there was movement around him, and a muttered, “Oh thank god,” from Sam that had him looking up. Apparently, Tony had finally run out of things to say, and at long last the meeting was over.

 

Bruce had risen and gone over to Tony to ask him even more questions, and everyone else, seeing it for the opportunity it was, decided to make a break for it.

 

“Who the hell were you texting the entire time?” Clint asked as they piled into the elevator, Steve typing yet another furious threat to Bucky.

 

“The asshole,” Steve grunted, hitting send.

 

 **Sergeant Cat Butt** : _I’m making this my new wallpaper,_ came back less than twenty seconds later.

 

“Who?” Thor asked as he wiped the sleep from his eyes.

 

“What’d Bucky do this time?” Sam asked.

 

“He let the Pizzas fall asleep in my shield,” Steve said through gritted teeth.

 

“What the hell are you talking about?” It was Clint’s turn.

 

“The kittens,” Steve clarified. “Bucky let them fall asleep in my shield.”

 

 **Steve:** _Don’t you dare._

**Sergeant Cat Butt** : _=^._.^=_

 

“You have kittens?” Sam asked.

 

“When did you get cats?” Clint wanted to know.

 

“The little Earth dragons?” Thor wondered aloud.

 

“Of course he has cats.” Maria rolled her eyes. “He’s been coming here covered in cat hair for weeks now. Really boys, for a bunch of people responsible for the safety of the world, you need to learn how to pull your heads out of your asses and pay better attention.” As the elevator opened on the command floor, she reached out and plucked a single strand of orange fur from Steve’s shoulders, held it up and then let it float down to the ground. Then she shook her head, turned and strode through the doors, without even once looking back as they closed, just as Steve’s phone vibrated, indicating he had a new incoming message.

 

This time it was a video of Bucky’s hand gently rocking Steve’s shield, that managed to capture the sound of the Pizzas purring.

 

“He put kittens in your shield?” Sam asked from over Steve’s left shoulder, where he was looking down at the screen.

 

“Aw,” Clint crooned from Steve’s right.

 

“A fitting nest for the tiny Earth dragons,” Thor agreed.

 

“What the hell is wrong with you people?” Steve glared at all of them.

 

“What the hell is wrong with you man?” Sam asked as the elevator doors opened on the training level. “Not telling us you adopted a bunch of cats?”

 

“I didn’t. Bucky did.”

 

“Uh-huh.” Clint said as Thor reached out and pulled a second strand of fur from Steve’s shoulder. “Sure.” And Steve should have expected it by now, he really should have. Just as Thor released the fur, Clint snatched Steve’s phone and bolted through the doors. Steve sighed.

 

“Aw,” Clint sing-songed in a childish voice as he scrolled through the photos in Steve’s phone. “Wook how cute the widdle bitty kitties are.”

 

“Give it back.” Steve held his hand out for his cell.

 

“How many?” Sam asked, joining Clint.

 

“Four.” Clint blinked. “Seriously Cap, you have four cats now?”

 

 “Yeah, the Pizzas,” Steve sighed. It really was useless at this point.

 

“What?” Sam looked at Steve.

 

“Mushroom, Sausage, Meatball and Pepperoni.”

 

“ _What?_ ” Sam asked again.

 

“Don’t look at me. I didn’t name them.” Steve held up his hands. “Bucky did. He was the one who found them actually. Behind a dumpster. Their mother was hit by a car and didn’t make it and Bucky decided to bring them home, and well…Yeah. Four kittens.” The three of them lifted their gazes from their perusal of Steve’s phone and looked at him.

 

“Are you telling me,” Clint began, “That the world’s deadliest assassin–“

 

“Who was captured and brainwashed by HYDRA for over seventy-five years and almost killed you twice,” Sam added, “who you are now sleeping with, by the way.”

 

“Yeah, that,” Clint agreed. “That he found and rescued four orphaned kittens, that he then decided to bring home, and you’ve been raising them ever since?”

 

“Wait, this Bucky?” Thor interupted.  “This is the Shield,” and here he paused, his head tilted slightly as he studied Steve carefully. But when he continued, his voice was soft and surprisingly compassionate for him. “Mate that you thought was dead, but who Fortune decided to return to you?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve heard himself say quietly. “Him.” Steve reached out and grabbed his mobile. But he didn’t shove it back into his pocket. Instead, he flicked through to another folder, selected a file from just that morning, hit play, and held it up for them to see.

 

It was a video of Bucky kneeling down in the back garden, gathering the fallen petals from a hyacinth plant, while the kittens gamboled around him, mewling for his attention.

 

“Okay, okay,” his voice could be heard saying softly, as he picked up Meatball and draped him over his shoulders, and then cradled Sausage and Mushroom in his metal arm. He smiled down at Pepperoni, running the tip of his index finger over the crown of her tiny, fuzzy head with the gentlest of expressions on his face. “Come on Pepperoni. Let’s go make Stevie some breakfast.” He rose gracefully from his crouch, a jaguar among the kittens, turned and saw Steve standing there, and with a knowing look and that same smile, rolled his eyes.

 

“Steve,” Sam said quietly as the video finished.

 

“ _That’s_ Bucky?” Clint asked, just as astonished.

 

“Yeah,” Steve whispered, feeling his heart swell in his chest. “That’s James Buchanan Barnes. So, you know, if you were all still wondering…That’s why.”

 

“Steven.” Thor’s hand was on his shoulder, a steady firm grip that pulled Steve back into the now. “When do we get to meet him?”

 

“What?” Steve jerked his head up.

 

“Steven, he is a fellow warrior, your Shield Mate and Companion, and you have been this way for how long now?” Thor persisted.

 

“At least three months,” Clint provided.

 

“And why have you not presented him to us yet?” Thor continued.

 

“Seriously,” Sam grumbled just as Steve asked, “Presented?”

 

“Of course.” Thor slapped the back of Steve’s shoulder, thankfully missing the love bite Bucky had left there after he made Steve his breakfast. “We need to be properly introduced and determine if he is worthy enough for you. Although anyone who can bond with the little Earth dragons as he has is most certainly a worthy companion.”

 

“What?”

 

“Yeah Steve, we get that you’ve been fucking like rabbits, but don’t you think it’s time you introduced us?” Clint said.

 

“Fucking like rabbits?” Thor asked. Clint reached out, and snagged the collar of Steve’s shirt, pulling it down to reveal the second love bite Bucky had left that morning. Thor stared at the bruise and laughed.

 

“Ah, he is a biter then!” Apparently Thor approved. 

 

Before the conversation could get any stranger, Steve decided to pull a page from Bucky’s book, shoved his phone back into his pocket, and announced, “That’s it, I’m going home.”

 

“Yes, do that,” Thor agreed. “And then let us know when we will meet this Bucky Barnes. You can text me the details. I have one of these cellular phone devices now, thanks to Tony. I will make sure to be available for this important meeting.”

 

Steve looked up and found three pairs of eyes staring at him, not a single drop of sympathy in any of them. Clint had consistently expressed his curiosity with regards to Bucky, shrouded in a constant teasing. Sam had been asking for a second chance to meet Bucky ever since he came back in February. But every time Steve tried to convince Bucky to come along, he had balked.

 

Now, now Thor was involved. And when an Asgardian Prince, who was also the God of Thunder, made a request, if you valued your friendship (and your life during the middle of a thunderstorm) you somehow found a way to make it happen.

 

But Bucky was Bucky, and Asgardian Prince or not, he was still the most stubborn sonovabitch Steve had ever met. And this, this was not going to be fun.

 

“Ummm….”

 

_Well fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> =^._.^=  
> =^._.^=  
> =^._.^=  
> =^._.^=


	23. Introductions - Part II

Steve had been trying to convince Bucky to meet his teammates ever since he’d come back. Not right away; after Bucky’s absence, Steve had been the one who needed time to resettle in his skin, his life, that had nearly been destroyed when Bucky left. But after a few weeks, once things calmed, he began to ask if Bucky wanted Steve to introduce him to the people, who after Bucky, Steve spent most of his time with. He thought it would be a good idea, that by doing so he would be laying out the strands of a tapestry of acquaintances and friendships he could weave around Bucky, so his sense of community and bonds would be strong enough to keep him from feeling the need to flee. He hadn’t known about the web Bucky had built for himself, a family of food and love and amazing women. But even if he had, he would have still wanted Bucky to meet the rest of the Avengers.

 

Not all of them initially. Just a few, the ones who in his heart Steve considered not only teammates and friends, but family, brothers in everything but blood, the way Dewy was Bucky’s sister. So Sam, Clint and Thor. If that went well, Steve thought he could eventually introduce Bucky to Bruce, Maria and Pepper. Not Natasha. They had only spoken once, and briefly, about Bucky’s reaction to Natasha, and all Bucky said was, “I get that she’s your friend Stevie, and you got your reasons for that. And I know HYDRA probably didn’t treat her any better than me. But I don’t care. Just keep her away from me and we’ll be fine.” That had been the end of that.

 

Bucky and Tony. Well. Steve knew better than to even consider that idea.

 

But Sam, Clint and Thor. They were Steve’s closest friends, his band of brothers in the now. Intelligent men, and the most likely to simply accept Bucky as he was. He also thought once Bucky got to know them, he would just simply like them for who they were. Fun and funny, but true. Most importantly, each of them understood war and loss, and the scars one ended up carrying as a result. Survivors, all of them, and if nothing else that would give them all a common ground to start from.

 

And they were curious about Bucky, of course they were. They had seen the way Steve nearly lost himself when Bucky disappeared at the end of last year. They could also see the way Steve had changed after his return. Once they figured out that Steve and Bucky had become lovers, they teased Steve relentlessly over it. It was never cruel, nor was it mocking. And Steve wanted to give that to Bucky, to share it with him the way Bucky had shared his tiny clan of Puerto Rican women, and the fierce and protective love they all felt for one another. Because they were happy for him, and wanted to share in Steve’s own happiness. Except they were the Avengers, and the Avengers always did things their own way. A nosy bunch, who were beyond curious at this point. Steve was amazed at the amount of restraint they had shown so far, but he knew that wouldn’t last if he didn’t introduce Bucky to them soon.

 

But no matter how often he asked, or tried to introduce the idea into a conversation by suggesting a neutral activity, Bucky always declined. And he absolutely refused to discuss his reasons why. Bucky could still be secretive, and Steve knew he needed to remember that in spite of all of his easy-going laughter and charming smiles, Bucky had always been an extremely private person, even when they were kids. The need for privacy ran even deeper now. It didn’t happen very often, and that was a difference from their younger days.  But when it came to things Bucky viewed as a personal weakness or flaw, or didn’t want to admit he didn’t have the strength to face, he still sometimes shut everyone and everything out, even Steve. He was good at it, and did it in such a way that whoever he was hiding those parts of himself from didn’t notice the misdirection, not even Lulu on occasion. But Steve had known Bucky his entire life, had spent so much of his time studying and watching him. And Steve would never, _ever_ forgive himself for not realizing what Bucky had been going through during the war, no matter how many times Bucky told him to stop being an idiot. There was a reason why Bucky always waved off Steve’s invitations to lunches, dinners, baseball games with his other friends. Bucky just wouldn’t talk about it. Steve found himself sometimes wondering if Bucky didn’t understand that Bucky, and his heart, and the brightness in his eyes whenever he looked at Steve was more important, more precious to Steve than anything in the world. Steve would never risk or jeopardize that. He just wanted Bucky to meet his damned friends. But Bucky wouldn’t budge.

 

So Steve decided to call in reinforcements.

 

***

 

“No,” had been Dewy’s response when he asked her for help.

 

“What do you mean no?” Steve asked.

 

“I mean no.” She glanced into the living room, where Bucky was sitting with Nina cradled in his arms, reading to her. “If he doesn’t want to meet them, then he doesn’t want to meet them.”

 

“Has he told you why?” Steve asked.

 

“No.” She shook her head. “But I’m not going to try to force him to do something he doesn’t want to. He’s had enough of that already. And you going behind his back like this,” here she paused and made a small tutting noise, “I don’t see that working out too well for you. And I need him to babysit on Thursday night, so keep me out of it.”

 

And that was that.

 

***

 

Joey didn’t even bother to answer him. Just rolled her eyes at Steve when he tried to ask for help, and went back to working on her laptop. If there was any of them Bucky had shared his reasons for not wanting to meet Steve’s friends, Steve knew it would be her. But the two of them were protective of each other’s secrets, and Joey would never share one of Bucky’s, especially if she knew it would piss Steve off. So she ignored him while she typed furiously on her keyboard, muttering under her breath about how she was going to falsify all of Steve’s tax records, and then contact the IRS with an anonymous tip about Captain America committing tax fraud.

 

Steve sighed. It was time to bring out the big guns.

 

***

 

“That was a low blow, Steve,” Bucky grumbled the next afternoon when he came back from lunch with Lulu.

 

“What?” Steve asked sweetly, feigning innocence while pulling the strawberry cheesecake from Bucky’s favorite bakery he deliberately purchased for just this moment from the refrigerator.

 

“She threatened to stop making me chuletas,” Bucky accused.

 

“Did she now?” Steve placed the large piece of cheesecake he had just sliced onto a plate, and slid it over the counter in Bucky’s direction with a grin.

 

But Bucky, Bucky ignored him (and the cheesecake), and bent to scoop Meatball up in his arms, draping him over his shoulder. “That was a low fucking blow, Steve,” he said again, before he turned and strode out of the room, Sausage, Mushroom, and Pepperoni (the little traitor) following.

 

***

 

The following Saturday, as Steve and Bucky made their way down Lenox Avenue to the restaurant they had all agreed upon, he was certain he had made a mistake. From where he followed half a pace behind, instead of by his side as he usually walked, Bucky was quiet, everything that made him _Bucky_ turned inward, replaced by a wary silence. Bucky had been subdued and withdrawn over the past week, and as the actual day drew closer, Steve’s worry only increased.

 

Three times Steve had woken up alone in their bed, to find Bucky up on the roof smoking, Meatball draped over his neck, Sausage and Mushroom curled up in his lap. He hadn’t said much to Steve when he approached and assured him he was fine when Steve asked. They both knew he was lying.

 

It had gotten so bad their family noticed. Bucky spent a lot of time walking with Joey those cool September afternoons, the two of them disappearing for hours at a time. Neither would discuss what they talked about, but from the way Joey ignored him from that point on, Steve was certain he would be getting a call from the IRS at some point in his future.

 

Bucky had barely said a word all day, and was already in his jacket when Steve came into the foyer to retrieve his own from the closet. Steve just wished Bucky would talk to him, because this was not good, not good for either of them, and he was ready to call the whole evening off if it meant Bucky would relax and smile at him again. But they had just turned the corner, and Sam, having seen them, was waving in their direction.

 

“It’ll be fine, Buck, you’ll see.” Steve turned to Bucky with a smile, trying to reassure. “They’re a great bunch of guys, I swear to you.”

 

“’Kay,” was all Bucky said before Sam, Clint and Thor approached, all eager smiles and shoulder slaps for Steve.

 

“Hey guys,” Steve smiled back, because he loved these men; they were the best people in the world. And more than anything, he wanted to share that with Bucky. If only Bucky would let him.

 

“Steven,” Thor said in his big, booming voice. “It is about time you arrived.” He looked over Steve’s shoulder at Bucky and his smile grew even wider. “And is this your Shield Mate?”

 

 _Oh boy_ , Steve thought as he took a step to the side so they could all see Bucky, running a nervous hand over the back of his head. “Yeah, it is. Everyone, this is Bucky. Bucky, this is Thor, Clint, and you already know Sam.” Steve made the introductions.

 

“Good to see you again Bucky,” Sam said, holding his hand out.

 

“Wilson,” Bucky said quietly, but he didn’t reach out to take Sam’s hand.

 

“Hey man, we’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Clint. Nice to finally meet you,” Clint said in an easy-going voice, holding his hand out, but not seeming surprised when Bucky didn’t return the gesture.

 

“Nice to meet you too,” was all Bucky said with a small nod, still in that same, quiet voice.

 

“And I am Thor, but you know that already,” Thor grinned. He didn’t reach out, nor did he step forward. He was staring at Bucky, studying him, something deep and unknown in his eyes as he took in all of Bucky’s details.

 

“Thor,” Bucky said with another nod. But he didn’t flinch, and he didn’t turn away from Thor’s stare.

 

Thor continued his study, and Steve wondered if this was some strange Asgardian test he hadn’t known about. But less than a second later, Thor’s smile grew even wider. “It is an honor to finally meet you, Bucky Barnes, Steven’s companion and friend to the little Earth dragons.” Bucky glanced at Steve.

 

“He means the Pizzas,” Steve explained. Bucky turned back to Thor and nodded again, but didn’t say anything else. The quiet lasted for a few more seconds, and Steve was seriously considering just turning around and dragging Bucky home when Sam broke the silence.

 

“Right,” he said, clapping his hands. “So, this is Amelia’s.” He gestured to the restaurant behind him. “It has the best soul food in all of Harlem, and it’s usually impossible to get a reservation on a Saturday night, but I called in a few favors–“

 

“You mean Pepper,” Clint interjected.

 

“And I was able to get us a table,” Sam ignored Clint. “But the place is packed, and if we don’t get in there now, they’ll give our table away. So come on, let’s go eat.”

 

Bucky was quiet as they all followed the maître d’ through the crowded restaurant and to their table. And he was still quiet, but definitely paying attention to everything around him as they sat and opened their menus, reading through the selections while Sam recommended this dish over that. It was Sam’s favorite place in all of the city to eat, and according to him everything on offer was absolutely amazing. Supposedly they had a brunch once a month, where the offerings were even better. But that required a personal invitation from the chef and owner, printed on a bright red stock card, practically impossible to get. Sam had been coming here for years, and he hadn’t been able to score one of those red cards. But don’t worry, there was nothing on the menu they wouldn’t enjoy.

 

Bucky didn’t say anything while Sam spoke. He wasn’t ignoring Sam, instead watching what was going on around him while occasionally glancing down at the menu in his hands. Steve lightly kicked his foot under the table, trying to get Bucky to smile. This was peacetime, with friends and food, three of Bucky’s favorite things in the world. He wanted, more than anything, for Bucky to feel at ease and enjoy himself. And, if he were being honest, he wanted to show Bucky off a bit. Because despite how quiet and withdrawn he had been lately, Steve knew, better than anyone else, just how charming and captivating Bucky could be, if he would just relax and let his real self shine through.

 

But Bucky was subdued, following their conversation, but not participating. Until, about ten minutes later, their server finally arrived, apologizing for the delay and explaining that they were busier than usual, even for a Saturday night, but could she get them started on anything.

 

She was a young, thin woman of color, with a round face, and long braided hair she had clipped back at the base of her neck. As she spoke, introducing herself as Allie and listing off the specials of the night, Steve noticed there was a rolling cadence to her voice, an added softness to her words that was soothing to listen to as she complimented first Sam, then everyone else as she took their orders. Once she had, she turned to Bucky, waiting for his decision. It was then that Bucky looked up from his menu, brushed a lock of hair behind his ear, and smiled at her.

 

 _Here we go_ , Steve thought.

 

Because he recognized that smile, and everything it meant. Bucky was going to turn on the charm, and allow just a little bit of his real self to shine through. His friends were about to witness just how amazing Bucky could be when he decided to make someone the sole focus of his attention.

 

And then he spoke.

 

“Bonjou Allie,” he said, his raspy voice all softly flowing rivers and the mysteries of moonlight. Not seductive, but appreciative and welcoming. It was a language Steve had never heard Bucky use before, sounding similar to French, but not quite. At his words, Allie’s smile, which had been professional before, turned into a bright bloom that lit up her entire face. Bucky said something else to her, pointing at the menu, and she stepped forward, leaning over his shoulder, to indicate and then explain each item to him. Around them, everyone else at the table had fallen silent as they watched Bucky ask her a few more questions. Allie answered each with a small laugh, until she finally straightened, and said something to else to Bucky, gesturing with her hands, while Bucky nodded and agreed with whatever she suggested.

 

Once the exchange was finished, Allie gathered their menus, told them she would get their orders in right away, before she gave Bucky’s shoulder a light squeeze, and then turned and headed toward the kitchen. As soon as she was gone, Bucky fell quiet again, as if the entire conversation hadn’t happened.

 

“What the hell was that?” Sam asked, his shock evident in his voice. Bucky just shrugged.

 

“Creole, I think?” Clint said.

 

“You speak Creole?” Steve asked Bucky, who shrugged again.

 

“What were you talking to her about?” Clint wanted to know.

 

“She was telling me about the food,” was Bucky’s reply.

 

“The food?” Sam questioned in disbelief. “You were smiling at her like that because she was telling you about the food?” Bucky shrugged for a third time.

 

“She’s nice,” he said plainly. “And I like food.” What Sam didn’t understand, what none of them at the table understood just yet, was for Bucky, it really was as simple as that. Someone had been kind to him, and they were offering him food; kindness and food, two vital aspects in everyone’s life, that Bucky had been denied for over seventy-five years. By offering Bucky that, Allie had ensured herself the gift of Bucky’s charm and undivided attention. She wasn’t going to regret it, although Steve thought the rest of them might.

 

He was proven right less than five minutes later, when Allie returned with their drinks, and a plate of still warm cornbread, Amelia’s standard starter, which she placed in the center of the table. Followed by something that looked like a fried flower, which she slid in front of Bucky with a warm smile.

 

“It’s a deep-fried Vidalia onion,” she said to him. “We add some cayenne pepper to the batter to give it a kick, but after everything you said, I thought you’d enjoy it.”

 

“Merci,” Bucky thanked her with a matching grin, one so sincere and charming Allie’s eyes were sparkling as she walked away.

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Sam asked, as Bucky reached out with his right hand to pluck one of the onion blooms before he popped it into his mouth and chewed on it thoughtfully. After a few seconds, he nodded, and then separated and placed several more pieces onto the small plate in front of him. But then, Bucky being Bucky, he slid the rest of the dish in front of Steve.

 

“It’s good, you’ll like it,” he explained quietly, before he reached for a piece of corn bread.

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Sam said again.

 

“Is it always like this, eating with him?” Clint asked.

 

“Pretty much,” Steve nodded and reached for a piece of the onion. Bucky was right, it was good; a crunchy outside, with a sweet chewy center, with enough heat to make it interesting.

 

Across from them, Thor, who had been unusually quiet during the entire exchange, burst out laughing.

 

The rest of the meal passed in mostly the same way, with the four of them talking easily amongst themselves while Bucky remained quiet. He responded whenever he was spoken to, but usually only with a one- or two-word answer. Steve could tell he still wasn’t comfortable, far from it, but at least he seemed to be enjoying the food. But he did look up and smile at Allie, sharing a few words with her in Creole every time she approached to check on their table.

 

Steve could tell Sam, Clint and Thor were confused by Bucky’s behavior, not really knowing what to make of him. Especially once their main courses had been served, and they had something else to focus on, aside from this new person Steve had brought into their group.

 

“You ordered chit’lins?” Sam asked Bucky in disbelief once Allie walked away. Bucky shrugged what must have been his hundredth shrug of the evening and picked up his fork.

 

“Allie recommended them,” Bucky said and then popped a piece of the stuffed and deep-fried intestines into his mouth. He chewed it slowly for a few seconds before he swallowed, nodded and picked up another piece. Even Steve found himself frowning at Bucky’s choice. He wasn’t a fussy eater, and had eaten rat stew once upon a time (Steve was never going to forgive Bucky for that), but even he had his limits. But Bucky ignored him, and everyone else, turning all his attention to his food.

 

And the food was good. At Sam’s recommendation, Steve ordered the fried catfish. It came with a side of black-eyed peas and okra. The catfish was delicious, light and flaky and full of flavor. And the black-eyed peas were a pleasant surprise (although not as good as Lulu’s habichuelas Steve would later admit to Bucky). But the okra, well, that was a bit weird, with a strange texture Steve didn’t like. He only took one bite before he pushed the small plate to the side and focused back on the fish. And of course Bucky noticed. While Clint, Steve and Sam discussed the scores from the latest Knick’s game, Thor mocking what weak humans considered to be serious competition, Bucky switched Steve’s plate of okra with his own order of hushpuppies without a word. Steve popped one of them into his mouth, and yeah, okay that was a lot better, nodding quickly at Bucky in thanks, before turning back to his conversation.

 

Until finally the plates were cleared and their orders for desserts put in. There was a lull in the conversation, and that’s when Bucky excused himself, rose from the table and made his way towards the restrooms.

 

“He is very quiet, Steven,” Thor said, once Bucky had disappeared in the back.

 

“He was like that the too, the last time you guys were at my apartment,” Sam added.

 

“He’s not, not really.” Steve shook his head. “I think he just needs a chance to get to know you all better before he’ll start to open up a bit more.”

 

“He’s aware of everything going on around him though,” Clint said. “He could tell you where all of the exits are, exactly how many people are in the restaurant right now, and who’s staff and who’s a customer.”

 

“Oh hell yeah,” Steve acknowledged.

 

“And he is extremely protective of you,” Thor said.

 

“Gave you most of his appetizer, and then switched his hushpuppies as soon as he saw you weren’t enjoying the okra,” Clint stated. Steve wasn’t surprised they had noticed. They were the Avengers after all, and while no one paid as close attention to Steve as Bucky did, that didn’t mean they didn’t notice the smallest of details either.

 

“He did that back in DC too,” Sam said.

 

“He’s always been like that, our entire lives. Even when we were kids.”

 

“A good Shield Mate then,” Thor nodded.

 

“The best,” Steve smiled at Thor.

 

“What the hell is he doing now?” Sam asked. Steve turned his head to follow Sam’s gaze to see Bucky standing at the entryway of the hallway to the restrooms, his back to the wall, talking to Allie. He was once again all smiles and charm. Except now, he was also all loose-limbed ease, and curious but sincere focus. Whatever Allie was saying to him, it was obvious she was captivated by Bucky’s attentions, as she waved her hands in the air while speaking with an eager enthusiasm. Because Bucky had a way about him, had always had a way about him. It was just the right amount of charm and wolfish intensity that never pressed for more. There was interest, but it was respectful; a curiosity that was genuine but made very clear it was never going to violate a boundary, unless the person he was talking to wanted him to. Steve remembered how, as a result of that, both the shyest of men and women all opened up to Bucky when he turned his attentions their way.

 

And who wouldn’t want to? Because Bucky was beautiful, all lean lines and feline grace, even when he was at his quietest, and Steve knew quite well, especially now, how having all of that wildness wrapped around you could make someone want to purr in response. Bucky may have been hesitant about accompanying Steve to meet his friends tonight, but he’d dressed to impress. He was wearing a tight-fitting pair of jeans, and a long sleeved black Henley beneath a royal blue silk button down, whose sleeves he had rolled up. It emphasized the broadness of his shoulders, and the slimness of his hips, while the color made Bucky crystal blue eyes appear even brighter than normal. His long hair, which now hung at least two inches past his shoulders, was loose and free, and it framed his face in gentle waves that made Steve, even from this distance, want to reach out and run his fingers through it. Steve had nearly choked on his tongue when he saw Bucky waiting for him in the foyer, and been tempted to call Sam and cancel, so he could drag Bucky upstairs and undress him slowly, piece by piece, while showering his body in kisses. He suspected that had been Bucky’s intent all along, but Bucky had finally agreed to meet Steve’s friends, albeit reluctantly, and Steve was not going to waste this opportunity. He still had plans for Bucky when they got home; Bucky had come, even if he hadn’t wanted to, and in exchange, Steve was willing to let Bucky do anything he wanted to him once the night was finally over.

 

As they conversed, Bucky leaned in slightly while somehow managing to keep his back to the wall the entire time. Sam, Thor and Clint were watching with curious comments of their own, when Steve was struck with an idea. And this, well, this would be another way to prove his point.

 

Steve turned back to the table and casually tossed out, “Fifty bucks says by the end of the night, Bucky gets an invitation to that brunch you were talking about.”

 

“No way man,” Sam shook his head. “I’ve been coming here for years and I never got one. My _mother_ has been coming here for years, and she’s never gotten one either.”

 

“Easy money for you then.” Steve cast another glance in Bucky’s direction, just as he tucked a lock of hair behind his ear and said something to Allie that made her laugh.

 

“Fine, you’re on,” Sam agreed.

 

For Thor, the issue was a matter of pride. If an Asgardian Prince wasn’t going to get an invitation, then no Shield Mate, even Captain America’s Shield Mate, was going to get one either.

 

Clint took a little longer to decide, before he too ended up shaking his head. “Nah man, he’s good. But he’s not that good. And even I’ve heard about the Sunday brunches at this place.”

 

“If you say so,” Steve said with a fake innocence. He turned back around to watch the proceedings, just as Allie lifted her hand in a _wait here_ gesture and disappeared into the kitchen. Fifteen seconds later, she returned and waved for Bucky to join her. Bucky didn’t even bother to look back as he followed her through the swinging metal door.

 

“ _Are you fucking kidding me?_ ” Sam asked.

 

 _Poor Sam_ , Steve couldn’t help but think. But they’d all figure it out eventually.

 

***

 

The remainder of the evening passed much in the same way as the first half had. They had dessert and coffee, where at Allie’s insistence that Amelia’s apple pie was award winning, and she was sure that Captain America would simply adore it, Steve found himself presented with a warm plate of apple pie à la mode, which he took a single bite of before putting his fork down. Bucky had ordered peach cobbler, and when it arrived it came with a second plate of bread pudding with whiskey sauce, which hadn’t even been on the menu, that according to Allie her Uncle Jean, who was the owner and head chef of Amelia’s, made only for the staff and his family on Saturday nights. But well, since Bucky had been so enthusiastic about the chit’lins when he’d been in the kitchen, Uncle Jean thought he would probably enjoy this just as much. Another smile from Bucky, who sampled a bite of each dessert once Allie left their table, and then Bucky was switching his bread pudding for Steve’s apple pie. His three teammates had watched the entire exchange in a stunned silence, even Thor.

 

Not too long after that, they were getting their jackets and were about to walk through the door, when Allie called out to Bucky and asked him to wait just a minute before he left. Steve and everyone else stood out in the street, watching through the glass windows as Bucky was approached by a tall and broad chested older black man, who slapped Bucky’s shoulder companionably and then held his hand out to shake.

 

“He’s an interesting guy, your Bucky,” Clint said after a few seconds.

 

“Yeah, he is,” Steve easily agreed. Next to him, Thor was quiet. He had grown more so over the course of the evening, most of his attention turned to Bucky. He was staring, his eyes narrowed, that strange cast once again in his gaze.

 

“He is a good man, Steven,” Thor eventually said. “A troubled man, with a lot of scarring, but a good one. And a good match for you. You have done well by him. But there is still some work to be done, wounds that need to be healed.”

 

“What?” Steve asked, turning towards Thor, wondering what it was he saw when he looked at Bucky. Thor just nodded.

 

“But do not worry. Now that we have all been properly introduced, we will be more than happy to help you.” Thor slapped Steve’s shoulder, while from Steve’s other side both Clint and Sam nodded. “You are not alone in this anymore Steven, remember that.”

 

Before Steve could ask Thor what the hell he was talking about, Bucky came walking through the door, carrying a plastic bag nearly bursting at the seams with take-out containers in his right hand.

 

“Ha, told you,” Sam snorted under his breath. Bucky waved one last time at both Allie and the man he had been speaking to, presumably Uncle Jean, before he turned and joined the rest of them on the sidewalk, reaching into his back pocket as he approached.

 

“You each owe Stevie fifty bucks,” he said as he held up two red tickets between the first two fingers of his left hand. “Now pay up.”

 

“You son of a bitch,” Sam hissed, reaching for his wallet. Clint grumbled and did the same. But next to him, Thor started to chuckle.

 

“Half that money’s mine,” Bucky told Steve.

 

“All of it’s yours, Buck,” Steve laughed, as he took the invites from Bucky’s hand. “You did the work after all.”

 

“Damn straight I did,” and his voice was easy and open, for the first time the entire night. But then again, the evening was over, a successful mission by both of their standards, and Bucky could relax.

 

“When did you even get those? I didn’t see anyone hand them over to you,” Clint said, as he slapped his money into Steve’s outstretched hand.

 

“While I was in the kitchen. Took me less than three minutes to score ‘em.”

 

“How did you even know he would do that?” Sam asked Steve as he handed over his cash.

 

“Didn’t I tell you boys?” Steve said, as he took Thor’s contribution to the pot, giving it a quick count before he carefully tucked the money into the pocket at the breast of Bucky’s jacket. “The Howlies? We were the best stocked unit during the war. And it wasn’t because of me.” Then he leaned forward to press a quick peck to Bucky’s mouth. “It was all Buck.” And for the first time that entire evening, Bucky smiled one his real smiles. Still wolfish and sly, but also soft and gentle, and all of it directed at Steve.

 

“Well someone had to make sure your dumbass was being looked after.”

 

“It’s always been you Buck.” Steve took a chance and reached for Bucky’s hand. Bucky let him slip his fingers around his own and gave Steve a welcome squeeze.

 

“Damn straight,” Bucky agreed.

 

“What did he end up giving you anyway?” Steve asked, glancing at the bag Bucky still held.

 

“Couple of leftovers from the kitchen, said he’d thought I’d like. A few rib ends, a piece of chicken fried steak, some more corn bread, and a slice of chess pie, whatever that is,” Bucky told him.

 

“Only you Buck,” Steve smiled.

 

“You son of a bitch,” Sam cursed again, while next to him Thor continued to laugh. Even Clint had to admit defeat and was grinning at the two of them. And it was so easy to forget sometimes, that there were other people in the world, whenever he was this close to Bucky, and Bucky was smiling at him in the way that was Steve’s and only Steve’s alone.

 

“Anyway guys, we gotta catch a train, so we’re gonna head on home now,” Steve said, with a final glance at his friends.

 

“It was nice meeting all of you.” Bucky’s voice was back to being flat, indifferent, but Steve could hear it, beneath all of Bucky’s shields, his relief that the night had finally come to its conclusion.

 

“It was nice to meet you as well, Bucky Barnes, Shield Mate to Steven and Friend to the little Earth dragons,” Thor agreed, smart enough not to reach for Bucky’s hand. “And we will be seeing you again soon.”

 

“What?” Bucky asked.

 

“Of course,” Thor continued, looking around. “What do you say everyone? Shall we regroup in another two weeks?”

 

“Works for me,” Clint agreed.

 

“I can be here,” Sam said.

 

“Really Stevie?” Bucky turned to Steve, and from the expression on his face Steve could tell that there went all his plans for the rest of the night.

 

“Don’t look at me Buck, it’s not my fault they all think you’re charming.” Steve smiled.

 

“That’s one way of putting it,” Sam mumbled.

 

“Ugh,” Bucky groaned, as he began to walk away. But he didn’t let go of Steve’s hand as he made his way down the street.

 

“Night guys,” Steve called with a careless wave over his shoulder. Steve could hear his friends conversing amongst themselves as they neared the end of the block. Until right before they turned the corner, Bucky glanced over his shoulder and did the strangest thing, winking, just once, at Sam.

 

The last thing Steve heard before they crossed the street was Thor’s booming voice, asking in concern, “Why did you jump like that Sam? Were you bitten by a bug?”

 

***

 

“Really Stevie? You’re going to make me go through that again?”

 

“Was it really so bad tonight?”

 

“It was horrible.”

 

“Really Buck?”

 

“The food was alright, I guess.”

 

“You don’t have to come if you really don’t want to. I’m not going to force you. But if you do come, and actually say more than three words this time, when we get home I’ll do that thing with my tongue you really like.”

 

“Seriously Stevie, you’re going to try to bribe me with sex now?”

 

“For three hours.”

 

….

 

“Yeah, okay.”

 

_Gotcha._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I do this quite a bit, but I just want to take a sec to once again thank everyone for all of the wonderful and thoughtful comments. The past month has been unbelievably stressful for me, and all of your funny, intuitive and generous comments really were a bright spot. So, once more, thank you. They mean the world to me.


	24. Ice Melting

Two weeks after that they met for sushi. A week after that, it was Indian food. Ten days later, they went to a steak house. Bucky grumbled about it each time, but he still dressed and followed Steve as they went to meet his teammates. He was quiet, never saying much, but he was there, taking everything in with his keen gaze, and always managing somehow to score some specialty from the chef that hadn’t been listed on the menu.

 

And Steve’s friends, his friends, well, they were amazing. In spite of how busy he was, and any other duties Steve knew he must have, Thor always managed to be there whenever they arranged a get-together. Sam was the same, travelling up from DC more frequently than he had before these get-togethers started. And Clint, Clint was always up for anything, and once he realized Bucky had a knack for picking the best items from the menu, or getting them extra sides and desserts, there was nothing that would have kept him away. But they never pushed or pressed Bucky for more than he was willing to give, accepting him and his quiet presence, always acknowledging he was there, but never pressing him for more. And slowly, very slowly, Bucky started to relax.

 

Steve was fascinated by Bucky’s reactions to each of them, and how they reacted to Bucky in turn.

 

To his surprise, for some reason Bucky didn’t seem to like Sam. Steve would have thought Sam would have been the first one Bucky ended up opening up to. Steve spoke more about Sam to Bucky than anyone else, and he had offered his advice and support when they both needed it, while never speaking directly to Bucky. Bucky was always polite to Sam, and answered him when Sam asked him a question, but he never volunteered more information and spent a lot of their dinners together studying Sam with a cool distance. And Bucky, well, it was obvious that Bucky made Sam, if not uncomfortable, a bit nervous for some reason. Sam spent a lot of time talking to Steve during their dinners, occasionally glancing over to where Bucky was sitting, before shrugging whatever it was that had come over him off, and turning back to their conversation.

 

With Thor it was a different story. Initially, Bucky interacted with Thor with the same cool distance as he did when he spoke to Sam. Steve knew it was simply Bucky trying to come to an understanding of him; he was different from anything or anyone Bucky had ever encountered before, and he knew Bucky (and what little was left of the Winter Soldier) was trying to find a way to make Thor fit. Thor was a big, booming man, with a large presence and gregarious laugh anyone could easily mistake for hubris and pride. A proud man, who enjoyed his status as Prince and all the attentions it had entitled him to all his life. But more importantly, a good one; kind, who truly cared about those around him and difficult to offend. And he was extremely intelligent and intuitive as well. It was easy to forget that about him. But as more time passed, and Bucky kept joining them for dinners, Thor studied Bucky as much as Steve knew Bucky was studying Thor, and adapted his approach. He never changed himself whenever he interacted with Bucky, but made it very clear that he would always respect Bucky’s boundaries.

 

So he never reached for Bucky or tried to touch him, with one of his bone crushing hugs or jarring shoulder slaps. He did smile warmly at Bucky though, and greeted him as if he were an old friend whenever Steve and Bucky arrived. And then Thor figured out the true way to Bucky’s heart, and started asking him about the kittens; how they were doing, and did Bucky know Asgardians considered cats the dragons of Earth, that rescuing the little nestlings would have guaranteed Bucky a place of high honor in his kingdom, and oh, did Bucky have any new pictures in his cellular mobile phone device he would be willing to show Thor. When Bucky squinted at him, Thor just laughed.

 

“Aw, Bucky Barnes, Shield Mate to Steven,” Thor said with a bright smile. “It looks as if you have a bit of the Earth dragon in you as well. Steven often describes you as a jaguar, and I can see that he was correct.”

 

“Yeah well, Stevie’s an idiot,” Bucky grumbled with a roll of his eyes, but he was reaching into his pocket for his phone.

 

“On that we may only sometimes agree, but even idiots can have excellent taste.”

 

“Seriously guys?” Steve asked from across the table.

 

They both ignored him, and then Thor was laughing at the picture Bucky was showing him, which Steve knew was the one of him sleeping on his stomach, with the Pizzas curled in a line along his spine.

 

The next time they met, when Thor actually admitted to Bucky he still had trouble figuring out how to use his phone, because the instructions Tony had provided made no sense, (Steve absolutely agreed with him on that point), Bucky spent the entire evening with Thor looking over his shoulder, as he provided simple, clear and concise instructions for its use. Sam may have once again been staring at Bucky in shock, but Steve wasn’t surprised. Bucky could be sharp, and cutting, and he had a very limited amount of patience for whatever he perceived as stupidity. But he would never mock anyone for not knowing something, and if it was something he could share, he would take as much time as needed to pass that knowledge onto them. It was a trait he inherited from his father. Steve had memories of Bucky from the war, when Bucky had pulled Steve aside into a quiet corner or part of their camp and carefully explained to Steve how to pack his rucksack in the most efficient way, carry his guns so they wouldn’t impeded Steve’s mobility, or how to mend a seam so his uniform would last as long as possible. So much Bucky had done for Steve, for their team, that never made it into the history books. And now, he was doing that for Thor.

 

An hour later, after Thor managed to successfully send a text, download a song he enjoyed, and open his email, he laughed and slapped Bucky’s shoulder.

 

“Thank you friend Barnes!” His loud voice boomed. Bucky didn’t even flinch at the force of Thor’s slap, (Steve couldn’t help but wonder how he’d managed that), but he did cast Thor one of his sly, little glances.

 

“Yeah, well, just don’t shock my arm, and we’ll be fine. I fucking hate that.”

 

“Of course not Bucky,” Thor’s voice was suddenly softer, rich with sincerity. “I would never do something like that to anyone, unless I was defending one of my own. But we are friends now, so that includes you as well.”

 

Bucky stared at him for a heavy minute, before he nodded, just once, and then showed Thor how to download games to his phone.

 

After that, Bucky and Thor were easier with each other. And whenever Thor came to visit, if they were stuck in some meeting in the conference room, where once again Tony was trying to prove he could bore the rest of the Avengers to death, Thor played Temple Run on his cell.

 

And then there was Clint, who ended up being the biggest surprise out of them all.

 

Because he was the one who quickly seemed to develop an instinct with regard to Bucky, and the first of their little group Bucky considered a friend.

 

Steve wondered if it was because, after what Loki had done to him, he had a similar experience to Bucky, and was the only one who could even begin to understand what Bucky had been through. Perhaps it was since Clint was involved with Natasha, he already knew the type of damage being a tool of HYDRA inevitably caused, so nothing about the twists and turns of Bucky’s mind surprised him.

 

Or maybe it was because Clint was also an assassin, as excellent a shot with a bow as Bucky was with a rifle. That ability carried with it an extra weight, because while there were times, unfortunately, when that skill was needed, it meant whenever either one of them had been called to duty, a death was going to happen. That was their job. Steve, Thor and Sam went out to protect and defend, and each of them had killed in the past, but usually only as a last resort.

 

Bucky and Clint were the last resort. Termination. They were both the best at what they did, but it was a heavy burden to bear. Steve knew Bucky felt tremendous guilt for all of the lives he had taken while under HYDRA’s control, but he had been his company’s sniper for years before that, his skills legendary even back then. And he had never, not once, spoken to Steve about the price he had paid for those skills.

 

It could be some combination of all three, or none. Because in a lot of ways, Clint’s personality was similar to Bucky’s. Clint’s humor was not as sly or sarcastic as Bucky’s (at least when Bucky was around those he felt comfortable with), but he did love to laugh and poke and tease. On the surface, he was by far the most easy-going person Steve had ever met. But just like Bucky, Steve knew Clint had his darker moments, times when he was overwhelmed by his own shadows, and would pull away from everyone around him until he felt strong enough to once again face the world. Steve found himself coming to a deeper understanding of Natasha as a result of his relationship with Bucky, of how he knew she worried and regretted whenever she had to leave for an assignment when Clint was dealing with his own struggles. He had promised her he would keep an eye on Clint while she was away, and did his best to help her when he knew they were both struggling. While hesitant at first, they both grew to appreciate it, and Clint and Steve had become closer as a result.

 

Steve still didn’t know if any of that was why Clint seemed to be the first one to break through Bucky’s defenses and forge a connection with him. He was grateful for it though, even if it did surprise him.

 

The first time he noticed it was during their third dinner. He, Sam and Thor had been involved in their own conversation, discussing soccer this time (Thor kept wondering why so many Earth sports involved humans chasing balls), when Steve was caught off guard by Bucky’s laughter, loud and bright, a rare sound he only made when he was truly comfortable with someone, from the other side of the table. He looked over to see Bucky still laughing at something Clint had said, Clint smiling back at him. The two of them spent the rest of the meal leaning towards each other, engaged in some private conversation, Bucky more animated than Steve had seen him at one of their get-togethers, Clint seeming to enjoy himself just as much as Bucky. Thor had followed Steve’s gaze, and then slapped his shoulder, pulling Steve back into their conversation, quietly telling Steve in his own way to leave them to it.

 

The meal after that, once they paid their checks (and Bucky had somehow once again managed to score a bagful of extras) they were all walking down the street, enjoying the cool October evening air. Except Bucky wasn’t at Steve’s side, where he usually joined him to take his hand, his silent expression of relief that the night was over and their lives could go back to normal. When Steve turned to look for him, he saw Bucky and Clint walking together, a few feet behind, whispering to one another while Clint showed Bucky something on his phone.

 

“They like each other,” Thor said quietly with a pleased grin.

 

“Yeah, seems so.” Steve knew there was surprise in his voice, because he would not have expected this. But he could not deny how happy he felt either.

 

“Oh god, that’s the last thing we need,” Sam grumbled with a roll of his eyes. “ _Those two_ getting together.”

 

At that exact moment, Bucky glanced up and winked at Sam. Clint cackled, and then Thor was asking, “Sam, were you bitten by another bug?”

 

And then…

 

And then, not too long after that, came the biggest surprise of all.

 

It had been another long day at the Tower with his teammates. Tony had done a series of upgrades to the Quinjet, and they spent the day running through one exhaustive simulation after another. Aside from Natasha, who was once again away on assignment, (she really was the busiest one of them all), they were all in attendance. Except for Clint, who had informed them he needed to do some intelligence gathering of his own.

 

Except when Steve finally made it back to the row house, the bastard was there, lying on their living room couch, surrounded by a stack of empty pizza boxes and beer cans, the top button of his pants undone, Pepperoni curled on his bloated stomach. Bucky was next to him, sipping from a bottle of Malta, his jeans thankfully still buttoned, Meatball draped over his shoulders, Sausage and Mushroom purring on his lap, while some movie about a shark played on the television.

 

“I thought you were out doing recon,” Steve accused through gritted teeth.

 

“I was,” Clint said with a careless wave of his hand. “B-man said he knew of the best pizza place in all of New York City, and I needed to verify his information.” Next to him, Bucky burped. “And he was right. Georgio’s definitely has the best pizza.”

 

“Are you telling me you skipped out on training _to eat pizza?_ ”

 

“What?” Clint waved his hand again. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, modifications to the Quinjet. Green button still means go, red button means target acquired, press to blow shit up.” Bucky burped again. “Good one man.” And then the jerk lifted his hand and gave Bucky a high-five.

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

 

“What? We saved you a pie,” Clint shrugged.

 

“Seriously?” Steve still could not believe what he was seeing.

 

“Sausage and meatball, your favorite,” Bucky spoke for the first time. “Now shut up Stevie. It looks like the old guy’s gonna get eaten by the shark.”

 

“Oh, this is a good part,” Clint agreed, turning his attention back to the movie.

 

Steve sighed, accepted that really, he had nobody to blame but himself, and joined them on the couch to eat some pizza and watch the rest of the movie.

 

A few days after that, when Steve came home, it was to find Clint standing in their foyer with a basketball held under one arm, obviously waiting for Bucky, who was tying his shoelaces.

 

“Really?”

 

“What? We were just about to go out and shoot some hoops.” Clint just shrugged. “And then the Buckster said he was going to take me to get some of the best pork buns in the city.”

 

“Wanna come Stevie?” Bucky asked, rising to his feet. He came over to Steve, gave him his usually once over, because was always, _always_ going to check if Steve was okay, before he leaned in and kissed him soft and sweet.

 

Steve wanted to, he really did. But he also knew that this, this bond Bucky and Clint were forging, was important, and he needed to step back and allow it to grow.

 

“Nah, not this time,” he said instead, pressing a kiss that was just as soft, but not nearly as quick, to Bucky’s lips. Bucky was smiling when he pulled back. “You guys go ahead. I’ll pick up some sandwiches from Vito’s for dinner for when you get back.”

 

“Thanks man,” Clint said, with a wave over his shoulder.

 

“See you later Stevie.” Bucky smiled at him. “Love you.” And then he was gone.

 

“Yeah.” Steve smiled to himself as Bucky and Clint’s shadows disappeared down the street. “Love you too.”

 

Two weeks after that, when Steve came home, he found Bucky and Clint sitting in the kitchen, the table covered with what, Steve could tell from the smell, were cups of peppermint tea. Bucky and Clint were once again leaning close to each other, and they were talking quietly. Bucky’s face was pale and his features drawn, but he was listening intently to everything Clint was saying. Clint didn’t look much better; his entire posture was slumped and in that moment he looked older than Steve had ever seen him. There was a heaviness in the air around them, but their shoulders were pressed together as they whispered to one another, while the Pizzas lay curled around their feet.

 

Steve didn’t have to ask what they were talking about. He wanted to step in, and be there, offer his own shoulder for the both of them. But this, this was between Clint and Bucky, in a way it would probably never be between anyone else, and Steve needed to respect that.

 

Especially when Bucky glanced up at him, just once, with a slight shake of his head. Steve nodded, turned around and left them to it.

 

They stayed in the kitchen like that for three hours.

 

That was the first time Clint ended up spending the night, sleeping in the third bedroom of their upstairs floor. Bucky had actually been the one to insist he stay, and to Steve’s surprise, Clint readily agreed.

 

“He okay?” Steve asked, as Bucky finally climbed into bed, curling himself around Steve so tightly Steve’s ribs ached.

 

“Yeah, he’ll be all right.” Bucky’s raspy voice was soft as he burrowed in deep, pressing his ear to Steve’s chest, searching for his heartbeat.

 

“And what about you?” Steve immediately began to run his fingers through Bucky’s hair, the _stroke-stroke-stroke_ a silent lullaby they both cherished, as the Pizzas settled in around them and started to purr. Bucky shrugged.

 

“I will be,” he finally whispered, his arms tightening even further around Steve’s chest. He was quiet for a while, his eyes closed, but Steve could tell he wasn’t asleep, not yet.

 

“He gets it, you know,” Bucky went on quietly a few minutes later. “He’s been through something like I have, so he knows what it’s like.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve said, pressing a kiss to the top of Bucky’s head. “He does.”

 

“It fucking sucks though,” Bucky sighed. “'Cos he’s a great guy, and he didn’t deserve that.”

 

“Neither did you Bucky, neither did you.”

 

The next morning, they all got up early and Steve and Bucky took Clint to Senora Perez’s bakery for churros and Bustelo, which Clint immediately declared was his new favorite breakfast.

 

***

 

So Bucky and Clint became good friends. It still took time for Bucky to come around to Thor and Sam, but he stopped grumbling every time Steve made plans for dinner or sometimes lunch, and began to relax more. He was still quiet, still reserved, but well, that was okay. He was there and they could all enjoy each other’s company.

 

Thor and Sam grew used to Bucky, and his quiet silence that was less and less quiet each time they met up for meals. And Steve quickly became accustomed to Clint’s presence in the small but rich life he and Bucky had built for themselves. Clint was often there when Steve returned to the row house and Steve had long since stopped rolling his eyes whenever he found the two of them together on the couch, or when Clint would show up out of the blue, because Natasha was away, or he was bored, or he simply felt like it.

 

Or a month and a half after he first introduced Bucky to everyone, and the two of them arrived together outside of the restaurant in Bayside, Queens they had decided on for dinner.

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Sam grumbled under his breath as he watched Clint and Bucky make their way towards them, laughing with each other as they drew closer. It seemed to be Sam’s new mantra whenever Bucky was involved. Steve just sighed. There had been yet another meeting Tony had called, to talk about a new round of modifications to his Iron Man suit, and once again Clint had begged off, claiming he had a lead he was following up on. A lead, Steve was certain, involving a trip to Brooklyn and bacon double cheeseburgers for lunch.

 

“Just give it up Sam,” Steve shook his head. “I already have.” But then Steve looked up to find Bucky smiling at him, and he forgot everyone else as Bucky came up to him, gave him a quick once over, and then a kiss. Soft and sweet, it said all of the things they never needed words to express.

 

_Hello_

 

And…

 

_There you are_

 

And…

 

_I missed you_

 

And…

 

_Now I am home._

 

A language of kisses and shared breath that was theirs and theirs alone.

 

“Hey Stevie,” Bucky said quietly once their lips had parted.

 

“Hey Buck,” Steve answered just as quietly, running his fingers through Bucky’s hair. Most of it was loose today, part of it pulled back into a topknot at the back of Bucky’s head, a few stray strands framing his face. It was one of Steve’s favorite’s styles on him, and that, combined with the dark grey sweater, black jeans and combat boots Bucky was wearing made something in Steve feel both heated and hungry, and not for the food they were about to consume.

 

“Good day?” Bucky asked as Steve reached for his hand. Behind them, Clint had already said hello to Thor, and was laughing at Sam’s continued grumbling. He had spent enough time around the both of them by now that he had long grown used to the way Steve and Bucky used touch even more than words to communicate with one another. According to Clint, the two of them were adorable, Captain Cuddle and his Bucky Bear.

 

“It was all right,” Steve answered, but then narrowed his eyes and glanced at Clint. “We covered a lot of new ground, which someone will have to make sure he catches up on.”

 

“Oh please,” Clint snorted. “Because I wanted to sit there while Tony went on for three hours about the changes to the butt plates in his suit when there were burritos I could be eating instead.”

 

“You took him to Panchitos?” Steve asked. Bucky had told Steve about Panchitos, raving about their food, but they hadn’t gotten around to going there yet.

 

“It was awesome!” Clint announced. “They had this carne asada burrito that was _so good_ , and it was huge.”

 

“Really Buck?” Steve stared at Bucky, who just stared back, completely unrepentant.

 

“And these margaritas that were bigger than a bowling ball,” Clint went on.

 

“He drank three,” Bucky informed Steve.

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Sam said again, while Clint went on and on about the food, and bowling ball sized margaritas for the next fifteen minutes as they walked into the restaurant to be seated.

 

Le Royale Beet was a large space, dimly lit, with dark, natural wood walls, and pristine white tablecloths. Tea lights in elegant crystal holders rested on each table, and Steve noted a fully stocked wine bar on the wall opposite from the entrance. The atmosphere was subdued and hushed, and it was surprisingly empty for dinnertime during a Friday evening. And there were no burritos or bowling ball sized margaritas on the menu as they sat down and slowly perused their options.

 

“So what does this place serve?” Clint asked from his side of the table.

 

“Dunno,” Steve shrugged. “Pepper overheard us talking about dinner and recommended it. Said her friend’s the chef here and the food’s amazing. Even went so far as to call ahead for us and make a reservation.”

 

“Uh-huh.” Clint glanced around the empty restaurant and then back at his menu. “Okay.” On his right, Bucky had gone quiet, intently going over the options on the menu, his brow furrowed. Steve was starting to get a bad feeling about the entire evening, but Pepper had always been kind to him, and never steered him wrong in the past before. So he shrugged it off, decided to trust her, and turned back to his menu, which, from what could see, offered no appetizers or sides, just a single main course that the menu proclaimed would be a palate altering feast that would change the way one viewed the world.

 

Three minutes later, when Thor proclaimed, “I do not see any meat on this menu,” Steve’s bad feeling only got worse.

 

Twenty minutes after that, Steve was seriously reconsidering his opinion of Pepper when their server placed their orders in front of them and with a “Bon appetite” walked away. Steve looked down and frowned.

 

Calling it a salad would have been kind. On the large white plate in front of him what was appeared to be a cubed yellow vegetable, maybe squash of some kind, a carefully peeled but uncooked beet, that had been sliced and arranged into an artistic swirl, something that resembled raw cabbage, all of it garnished by a drizzling of a dark brown vinaigrette of some sort, and what Steve could have sworn was…

 

“It’s grass.” Bucky spoke up for the first time since they’d been seated, breaking the silence that had settled over the table.

 

“Um…” Steve picked up his fork and poked at the cubes that left slimy trails behind them as they slid around the plate. “Pepper recommended it. Said the food here’s amazing.” Next to him, Thor was poking at the grey pile on his plate, a mushroom of some sort, from what little Steve could tell.

 

“And how much does Pepper weigh?” Bucky asked.

 

“About ninety-eight pounds.” Clint was glancing from his plate to Bucky’s, comparing the two.

 

“Uh-huh.” And Steve could hear it in Bucky’s voice. He was starting to get mad.

 

“Everything looks very…fresh?” he tried.

 

“It’s grass,” Bucky said again, before he leaned back, dropped his napkin onto the table and, shaking his head, reached into his pocket for his phone.

 

“Pepper recommended it,” Steve said again, wondering why this was suddenly his fault.

 

“Uh-huh.” Bucky didn’t even bother looking up from his screen, where he was scrolling for something. “And you said she said it was run by a friend of hers right? Probably thought it would be a good opportunity to get some press for their restaurant if half the Avengers show up there, because seriously, no wonder the place is this empty on a Friday night. It’s fucking grass.”

 

And _oh boy_ , Bucky was on a roll. Steve was suddenly glad he wasn’t alone, so that Sam, Clint and Thor could all see what he had to put up with whenever Bucky decided to pitch a fit about something. He was glaring at Steve, glaring at every one, as he hit something on his phone and lifted it to his ear, while he grumbled under his breath.

 

“Seventy fucking dollars for fucking grass when I could have stayed home and had chuletas y arroz con habichuelas guisadas. But oh no. Come out Bucky, he says. The food’ll be great, he says. Thor’s here, come say hello, he says. Let’s get on a train to Queens at rush hour so you can have some fucking grass, he says. Fucking dumbass.” And then whoever it was he had called must have picked up the line, because just as suddenly, Bucky’s voice shifted to something soft and polite as he began to speak to them. In Japanese.

 

“Moshi moshi, Rei-san wa imasu ka?” He was rising as he spoke, pulling his wallet from his back pocket. He continued to speak, modulating his voice and smiling, indicating he was very familiar with whoever was on the other end of the line. “Hai, hai…Go…Hai, hai…Doumo arigatou gozaimasu.” He tossed a handful of bills on the table, disconnected the call, glared at Steve, and then tapped Clint’s shoulder. “C’mon.”

 

“Where are we going?” Clint had already risen, placing his own bills on the table.

 

“Shabu-shabu,” was all Bucky said. Steve had no idea what he was talking about, but apparently those were magic words, because Clint’s eyes widened, and his face brightened.

 

“Really?” he beamed.

 

“What is shabu-shabu?” Thor asked.

 

“It’s a Japanese hot pot dish,” Clint explained. “And oh my god Thor, it is _so good_.”

 

“Is there meat?”

 

“Lots of it. And this place I know, it’s run by Rei-san. She came over from Japan about forty years ago, and you can get a pork bone broth with your shabu-shabu that makes it even better.” Bucky picked up his plate, turned it over and dumped its three pieces of sad looking vegetables onto Steve’s dish, actually refusing food, something Steve had never seen him do before. “Enjoy your grass Stevie. I’ll see you later.” And then he turned around and walked out of the restaurant, Clint trailing behind him like a baby duck after its mother.

 

Steve poked at the pile of ( _okay, yeah, he had to admit it_ ) grass with his fork and sighed. Next to him, Sam was doing the same.

 

“Is he like this all the time?” Sam glanced at the doorway through which both Bucky and Clint had disappeared.

 

“He takes his food very seriously.” Sam snorted at Steve’s response.

 

“I would like to try this shabu-shabu,” Thor announced, rising to his feet.

 

“Yeah, you know what? To hell with this. Me too,” Steve agreed. It was just at that moment, as the three of them were preparing to leave, that they were approached by their server, who was being followed by another woman who was smiling at them, but also holding her cell phone in her hands.

 

“Captain America, Mr. Thor and The Falcon?” she began. “Hi, my name is Keira, and I’m the owner and chef here at Le Royale Beet. Pepper let me know you would be coming for dinner, and I was just wondering if you wouldn’t mind if we took a photo of the three of you while you were here, so we could post it to our Instagram account?”

 

_Goddammit Bucky._

 

***

 

It took them five minutes before they could escape, and when they finally made it to the street, Clint was standing on the corner, waving at them to follow him. Five minutes after that, Clint was leading them through a darkened door, up three flights of stairs and into a small but crowded restaurant, with traditional Japanese paneling, that was both well-lit and welcoming. Bucky was already there, talking to the hostess, an elegantly dressed older woman, who was smiling at him while they conversed, Bucky hands held warmly in both of hers. Bucky nodded at Steve and their friends, and then they were all being led to a small back room, with a low table and pillowed covered floors. After taking off their shoes, they sat and Bucky ordered for them all in Japanese. He sat back and sighed, already looking happier than he had just ten minutes ago.

 

“So, shabu-shabu?” Steve asked from where he sat on Bucky’s left.

 

“Shabu-shabu,” was all Bucky said in response.

 

In the end, Bucky was right. Shabu-shabu was amazing, and definitely a hell of a lot better than the sad plate of grass from Le Royale Beet. It involved a steaming pot of a rich hot broth that was placed in the center of the table, in which they could steep the selection of vegetables on offer. There were a variety of dipping sauces, as well as a bowl of udon noodles, thicker and chewier than anything Steve had ever tried before, but savory, satisfying and filling. And then there was the meat. Paper thin slices of pork and beef, that were swished for a few seconds in the broth to cook, before dipped in one of the sauces, (ponzu, a citrusy sauce ended up being Steve’s favorite), or a raw scrambled egg (the way Bucky chose to eat his.) Even better, once they were finally done with the meat, a seemingly endless supply, the noodles where then swirled in the broth, which was rich and full of all of the buttery flavors from the meat and vegetables that had been cooked within it. It was one of the most unique, and absolute best meals Steve had ever had in his life. Apparently, everyone else agreed.

 

“Thank you, friend Bucky,” Thor said, giving Bucky’s shoulder a slap once he finally emerged from the restaurant after spending a few extra minutes speaking with Rei-san. “That was truly a worthy feast.” Bucky nodded at him.

 

“How did you even know about this place?” Sam asked, glancing back at the building, with its unassuming door.

 

“And why haven’t you brought me here before?” Steve wanted to know. “I mean seriously Buck, how long have you been coming here?”

 

“You didn’t deserve to get brought here before. I wouldn’t have even brought you here today, but it was an emergency. I mean really, you tried to feed me grass.”

 

“That was Pepper’s recommendation!” Steve argued.

 

“It was still grass, Stevie,” Bucky countered.

 

“ _Rat. Stew._ ” Steve crossed his arms and glared at Bucky. Because he was never, _ever_ going to forgive Bucky for that.

 

“Don’t forget the roadkill,” Bucky had the nerve to respond.

 

“Oh, believe me, I haven’t.”

 

“Please, you keep going on about that rat stew, like you weren’t the one who kept licking your bowl clean.”

 

“I didn’t know it was rat at the time, Sergeant.”

 

“Really? It was the dead of winter and we were in the middle of nowhere, _Captain._ You were lucky it was just rat, and okay, maybe squirrel, and not something else.”

 

“Maybe squirrel?”

 

“It was meat Stevie.”

 

“It was rat Bucky.”

 

“And we scraped the fleas off.”

 

“ _What?_ ”

 

“Almost eighty years later and you’re still bitching about that goddamned stew, when you were the one who had three bowls of the stuff.”

 

“ _Fleas?_ ”

 

“Three bowls Stevie, three bowls.”

 

They had fallen into their usual pattern of banter and insults as they walked side by side, the rhythm of their steps falling into an easy and well-remembered synchronicity. And this, this was fun for them, a part of their language, their code, that they had always used when they wanted to play and parry with each other. So easy for them to slip into, and just as easy for them to forget they were with company when together they danced like this.

 

“Are they always like this?” Steve heard Sam’s voice ask from somewhere in the background.

 

“Oh please,” Clint snorted. “They’re just getting warmed up. This is their foreplay.”

 

“What?” Steve asked, turning around.

 

“ _This_ is their foreplay?” Sam said.

 

“Well, you know, we are talking about the world’s oldest virgin, at least until Bucky showed back up. Cap really doesn’t know any better,” came Clint’s reply.

 

“ _What?_ ” It was Bucky’s turn to ask as he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, turned around and looked at the three men who had been trailing behind them. Clint and Sam went on as if Bucky hadn’t spoken, while Thor watched the entire exchange as if he were sitting in the audience of a tennis match. Bucky stared at them, for just an instant before he started to laugh.

 

“You think Stevie was a virgin before me?” he asked in disbelief, shaking his head and then looking at Steve. “Why the hell would they think that?”

 

“Oh, come on,” Sam laughed. “The guy blushes every time one of the women who works in the Tower café smiles at him.”

 

“Or Pepper walks by in one of her mini-skirts,” Clint added.

 

“That’s because women dress a lot differently now than they did back in our day. It takes a bit of getting used to.” Bucky shook his head again. “And believe me, Steve was never a prude. He’s just private. There’s a big difference. Jesus Christ, you guys weren’t around to hear how he used to make Peggy Carter scream.”

 

“You uh, you heard that, huh?” Steve asked, feeling a blush rise to his cheeks reaction to Bucky’s words.

 

“Please.” Bucky rolled his eyes. “All of the Howlies heard it Stevie. We used to take bets on how many times you could get her to make that little squeal whenever we were stationed at a base.”

 

“Really?”

 

“I made a lotta money off of Jonesie every time we camped someplace where there were a couple of beds.” Bucky smiled, but it was a kind smile, full of compassion and understanding. “Don’t worry about it Stevie, we all knew. And we kept your secret. Why do you think I started positioning our boys at the end of the hallway whenever we weren’t out on a mission? It wasn’t just because we were all paranoid.”

 

“Bucky.” Steve shook his head.

 

“And how many of the USO girls were you with?” Bucky went on.

 

“A few,” Steve admitted with a smile.

 

“Which one was the one you said you really liked? Was it Molly?”

 

“Yeah, Molly. Sweet girl. Could do this really neat trick with her tongue too,” Steve nodded.

 

“Is that who you learned that from?” Bucky asked.

 

“Maybe,” Steve smiled.

 

“Huh,” Bucky returned his grin. “I really need to thank Molly then. Cos damn, that’s an amazing trick.”

 

“I aim to please Buck.”

 

“You sure as shit do Stevie. I ain’t got no complaints.”

 

“I ain’t got none either Buck. And that thing you did with my ear last night…”

 

“Lionel taught me that one.”

 

“Oh, did he now?” Steve asked.

 

“Wait a minute,” Sam cut in. “What?”

 

“Who the hell is Lionel?” Clint wanted to know.

 

“You know you boys didn’t invent sex, right?” Bucky had turned around and was walking backwards as he addressed Sam and Clint. “You didn’t even invent gay sex. Stevie over here may have hated being on the tour circuit, but that didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy the company. And there were quite a few fellow soldiers from back in the day that I got to know _real well._ ” Bucky shook his head again, all while not breaking his easy-going backward stride.

 

“And a few nurses,” Steve couldn’t help but grunt.

 

“Yeah well, them too,” Bucky agreed easily. “And shit, some of the stories I could tell you about the Howlies.”

 

“Really?” Steve asked.

 

“Oh yeah.” Bucky turned his attention back to Steve. “Falsworth was a kinky sonovabitch.”

 

“Really?” Steve asked again.

 

“Oh yeah.” Bucky shrugged. “There was this one girl he used to love to visit every time we were in Normandy. For five extra francs she would let him lick her shoes while she beat his ass with a hairbrush.”

 

Steve squinted, pulling on the memory. “Is that why he was always so happy whenever we got stationed there?”

 

“And broke.” Bucky nodded. “Seriously Stevie, you didn’t know?”

 

“I had no idea,” Steve shrugged. “But then again, I was usually kinda distracted.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Bucky snorted. “And let’s not even get into Jackie and the ukulele.”

 

“What ukulele?” Steve asked, just as both Sam and Clint echoed with, “Wait? What?”

 

“Oh yeah,” Bucky went on as if no one had spoken. “It was when we were stationed in that little village right on the border of the Alps. There was this girl there, Leila, that if you paid her enough and asked real nicely, she would bring you up to her room and let you rub your dick on the strings of a ukulele while she held it in between her breasts.”

 

“How the hell do you even know this Bucky?” Steve asked, while behind them both Sam and Clint started to make choking sounds.

 

“'Cos the idiot managed to get his dick stuck somehow. He started screaming and when me and Gabe burst into the room to see what was wrong, that’s how we found him. With his dick stuck. In a ukulele. Got to see more of Dernier than either of us ever wanted to see.”

 

“Is that why you guys would always start humming that old Carmen Miranda ditty whenever he walked by?” Steve asked.

 

“Steve,” Bucky said flatly. “I had to use my knife to cut his dick free from a bunch of ukulele strings while Gabe held him down so I didn’t slice his nuts off. And then I had to sweet talk one of the nurses there into giving me some cream so he could rub it into the burns on his willy. Damn straight we were never gonna let him live that one down.” Bucky was frowning at him, all exasperation and frustration at the world’s stupidity. Steve started laughing; he couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried. Those men, those first men he had served with and loved, and still, over eighty years later, no matter what he learned about them, their shenanigans and adventures could make him laugh like almost no one else could. Or really, like no one else but Bucky ever could.

 

“Did I ever thank you Buck, for being the best second-in-command anyone could have ever asked for?” Steve said, as he draped an arm over Bucky’s shoulder, pulling him in close so he could press a kiss to his temple.

 

“No,” Bucky grumbled, but he slid his arm around Steve’s waist, pulling him in even closer. “But it was my job Stevie, to make your life easier. And I was happy to do it.”

 

“You’re still doing it even now, James Buchanan Barnes. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

 

“Ugh, geroff Stevie.” Bucky finally shoved Steve away. “We’re freaking out the children.” Steve glanced over his shoulder at his friends who had all gone quiet behind them. Clint and Sam were both wide eyed and obviously stunned, while Thor looked as if Christmas, or whatever was the Asgardian equivalent, had just come early.

 

“We can never introduce them to Dewy,” Steve said.

 

“Oh please,” Bucky dismissed with a wave of his hand. “She’d chew them up and spit them out.”

 

“And then walk all over them in her high heeled boots.”

 

“Have you seen her new ones yet?” Bucky asked.

 

“The brown suede ones? Yeah, those are nice,” Steve nodded.

 

“They really are.”

 

“Who the hell are you people?” Sam cut in, bursting the little bubble of friendship, memory and love Steve and Bucky had wrapped around themselves without even trying. Even Clint, who knew Bucky better than any of them there except for Steve, looked shocked.

 

But it was Thor, a prince from another world, who was older than even Steve and Bucky, and one of the loudest and most gregarious people Steve had ever met, who was the first one to understand, and perfectly lay the tip of his finger on the pulse point of what he had just witnessed. He came forward, his stride determined and his shoulders held back, but with a gentleness he had somehow managed to wrap around himself like the softest summer rain. He stopped, less than a foot way from Bucky, and held his left hand out for him to shake.

 

“Hello Bucky Barnes,” he said in a voice that was deep, but sincere. “It is nice to finally meet the real you.”

 

Bucky glanced down at his outstretched hand, just once, before he reached out and took Thor’s into his own. And then…

 

And then…

 

Bucky did something that surprised even Steve. He pulled Thor into a loose embrace, slapped the back of his shoulder just once with his right hand, before he leaned forward, and said quietly into Thor’s ear,

 

“Thank you for looking out for Stevie while I was away.”

 

Then he let go, stepped back, and nodded at Thor and then everyone else.

 

“You are very welcome Bucky. It was our honor and privilege to do so,” Thor acknowledged. “In exchange, all that I ask is that from now on, whenever we meet, you select the restaurant where we are to eat. Because _grass_.”

 

“Deal,” Bucky laughed while Steve rolled his (slightly damp) eyes at the two of them and muttered, “Seriously? That wasn’t my fault,” while from somewhere behind them Sam said yet again, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

 

But Bucky ignored him, and was already returning to Steve’s side, reaching for his hand. “Ready to go home Stevie? Do that tongue thing, and see if you can make me scream just like you used to make Peggy?”

 

“I’ll do my best.”

 

“You always do,” Bucky smiled.

 

“Later guys,” Steve said over his shoulder as he began to lead Bucky away. “See you in a few days.” Just as they reached the corner and were about to cross the street, Bucky glanced behind him, and did what he always did whenever one of their nights reached its conclusion, and winked at Sam.

 

“Bucky,” Thor called, his voice filled with amusement. “Stop winking at Sam like that. He thinks you are threatening to kill him every time that you do.”

 

“Who says I’m not?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this exact moment, Bucky might just be admitting that yeah, OK, Steve's friends aren't so bad.
> 
> Clint is trying to figure out how to convince Bucky and Steve to let him move into the rowhouse, because seriously, the bedrooms are gorgeous, and even more importantly - the food! ALL THE FOOD!
> 
> Steve can't stop muttering "Fleas?" 
> 
> Thor is smiling proudly, because really, he knew it all along.
> 
> And Sam wants you to know that they STILL aren't paying him enough to deal with this shit. 
> 
> (The author wants you to know that comments give her life, and that maybe, just maybe, there's a teeny tiny chance that there might be an extra chapter this week. We'll see.)


	25. Friendships and Flashbacks

Maybe it was the exchange with Thor. Or perhaps Bucky had finally relaxed enough to let Steve’s friends see more of the real him, and the dynamic he and Steve so easily shared. Or maybe it was because Bucky was now the one who usually selected wherever it was they were going to eat. But after that, something in Bucky eased, and he was calmer, less inhibited, and more himself when he tagged along with Steve to meet up with their, and they were theirs now, friends. He was still closest to Clint, who was spending more and more time with the both of them at the row house as the weeks passed. But he also smiled warmly at Thor whenever he saw him, greeting him with a one-armed embrace, and asking him sincerely how he was doing. There were even occasions when Steve would look up from whatever conversation he was having with Sam and Clint to see the two of them huddled together, engaged in a quiet discussion while Thor waved his hands about as he spoke, and whatever Bucky said in response made Thor laugh. Steve could have sworn one time he overheard them talking about their hair, which made him roll his eyes, shake his head, and accept that yeah, this was his life now.

 

Bucky was still a bit cool around Sam, but Steve eventually realized that was because Bucky was fucking with him, enjoying the way his sly little glances and half smirks never failed to make Sam nervous. Steve chided him about it, trying to get him to stop. Bucky ignored him and continued to wink or study Sam in a way that always made him pause in whatever he was doing and stare.

 

“He is just playing with him Steven,” Thor had been the one to explain. “And he is waiting for Sam to figure it out and play back.”

 

“Plus, he knows that Sam’s jealous,” Clint added while Thor nodded.

 

“What?” Steve asked.

 

“It’s a BFF thing,” Clint went on. “And Bucky gets a kick out of riling him up.”

 

“BFF?” Steve asked.

 

“Ah yes, I can see how that would amuse him,” Thor agreed. “Poor Samuel.”

 

“What the hell does BFF mean?” Steve asked again. But no one would tell him, not even Bucky.

 

In the end, it didn’t matter. Dinners or lunches with Steve’s teammates simply became a part of their lives.  They still had dinners on their own, either in the row house, or in quiet, dimly lit restaurants, just the two of them together, where they sat with their ankles pressed together and happily shared their food. There were their walks with Dewy, and meals with their family, where they took turns holding Nina in their arms. (Bucky was still the only one who could get her to stop crying, but Steve relearned how to change a diaper, gently pat a back in order to get her to burp, or croon a soft lullaby while she stared up at him with her wide black eyes.) And whenever they came home, it was to the mewls and purrs and happy little chirps of the Pizzas, who curled around their feet and seemed to find even more ways to shed their fur all over Steve’s clothes, while Bucky spoiled them, and Steve continued to pretend that he was the only one. Clint became a semi-permanent fixture in their lives, showing up at their house at least twice a week, sometimes more, depending on his mood, whether Natasha was on assignment or not, or simply because he was bored and wanted something to do. Thor and Sam still hadn’t come to visit; Steve didn’t say anything, because no matter what had changed or how close they were becoming, he knew the invitation had to come from Bucky himself. It was their home, but it was Bucky’s sanctuary, the one place where he always felt safe, and a boundary he needed to remain intact. He was still fiercely protective of it, so Steve let it be. Either it would happen or not, and after all the changes so far, Steve was not going to press the issue.

 

Just like he didn’t press the issue of inviting their friends to Casita Pepe for dinner, still the best restaurant in all of New York City as far as they both were concerned. Because that was Bucky’s family, and to be invited there was an honor only Bucky could grant. Steve had asked once, and only once about it, and after Bucky vehemently refused, Steve knew well enough to let it lie.

 

Besides, there were still plenty of other restaurants in New York City for them to explore, and Bucky seemed to take great pride and pleasure in finding all the best eateries to bring their friends to.

 

There was the Polish restaurant in Bay Ridge that had amazing pierogis. The Korean barbeque joint in midtown that let you grill your own meat right there in the middle of the table. Dim sum in Chinatown. An Italian place in Bensonhurst that served huge platters of freshly made pasta family style. The little hidden Jewish delicatessen on the lower East side that gave their customers schmears of liverwurst on toasted pieces of pumpernickel bread as an appetizer. A ramen shop in Staten Island that placed huge bowls of steaming noodle and meat filled soup in front of their customers with a wave of pride. Indian food in the East Village. Fried chicken in the Bronx. Bucky even once took them to a vegetarian restaurant in Park Slope, where the food was both savory and satisfying, as if to prove a point. Burger joints and coffee houses and pastry shops and food carts, and all of it, every single meal, a new experience Bucky gladly shared with their friends.

 

Sometimes it was the five of them. Sometimes Thor couldn’t be there, and sometimes it was Sam who couldn’t make it up from DC. But once a week, without fail, in some combination, they ventured out together to enjoy a meal.

 

Bucky didn’t always end up picking the restaurant. Occasionally there was a place Clint wanted to take them to, or an old favorite of Sam’s they visited instead. Or one of their other teammates made a recommendation that they agreed was worth trying (although after Le Royale Beet, they never did take another suggestion from Pepper, and Steve heard the restaurant had closed its doors not too long after their sole visit). Today it was a place Tony, of all people, had recommended. The latest venture by a celebrity chef, that served gourmet burgers he swore were mouth-watering and where the service was phenomenal.

 

Steve should have known by now that Tony’s version of good service was very different from his own. As soon as they arrived, and Steve gave his name to the maître d’, once she looked up and confirmed their reservation in their booking software, and saw she had a party consisting primarily of members of the Avengers, it became very obvious they were not going to be allowed to eat their meal in peace.

 

They were led to their table by the fawning woman, and barely had the chance to sit down before their waitress sauntered over, introducing herself as Lisette, making it very clear, as she _oohed_ and _aahed_ over them, that she would be more than happy to provide them anything, _absolutely anything_ they could possibly want to make their evening as enjoyable as possible.

 

After the third time she had leaned over so that her long, golden blonde hair fell over his shoulder, and twisted her body in such a way so Steve could not help but notice she was wearing a very low-cut shirt, Steve knew it was going to be a long night.

 

At his side, Thor was smiling and chatting with Lisette, obviously pleased with the attention he was used to. Sam was doing the same. Across from him, Clint was shaking his head. He was the least well known of the Avengers, and given the nature of what he did, he preferred it that way. At the end of the table, Bucky was quiet, but he did smile wryly at Steve as a second server approached, a buxom brunette who introduced herself as Janine, and guaranteed the same level of attention and service Lisette had, the both of them barely sparing Clint and Bucky a glance.

 

It was unfortunate, but it happened from time to time. People did tend to recognize Steve whenever they went out, and unlike Sunset Park, whose inhabitants were warm and friendly but also respected Steve’s privacy, they asked for photos and autographs and five minutes of his attention so they could talk or flirt with him. Bucky handled it well, with an easy-going acceptance that always left Steve stunned. It had been a surprise for Steve to discover that he was the more jealous of the two; it wasn’t that he doubted or ever questioned Bucky’s loyalty or fidelity. It was just that after all this time, decades and decades of secretly wanting, and a deep burning hunger that ached in his bones, Bucky was finally _his_. And sometimes, even the idea of sharing any of Bucky’s attentions for five minutes was enough make Steve drag Bucky home, nearly throwing him to the nearest available surface, and imprinting himself on his skin, so Bucky would never forget who it was he belonged to.

 

Bucky merely laughed about it. And when a situation arose like the one that was obviously happening tonight, he just calmly accepted it, and wrapped himself in that quiet invisibility he could pull around himself like a cloak. As long as he got his food, he’d be fine, and would tease Steve mercilessly about the evening on their way home.

 

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Steve apologized to him directly once both Lisette and Janine finally left their table to get their drinks.

 

“Don’t worry about it Stevie,” Bucky waved him off with a crinkling of his eyes. He was a bit quiet today; there had been a bad nightmare a few nights ago, and he’d had some trouble sleeping ever since. But Steve had sat with him, and spent some time brushing his hair, and he seemed fine. Their friends had quickly gotten used to that too, each one developing their own instinct and insight into Bucky’s moods, simply accepting it as part of who he was, and always offering their support. They both appreciated it, and in exchange Bucky grew increasingly relaxed in their company.

 

Five minutes later, Lisette was back with their drinks. She carelessly deposited Bucky’s and Clint’s in front of them, before turning all of her cooing, fawning attention back on Steve, Thor and Sam. Then it was Janine’s turn, as she made her way to the table with a fresh bowl of still steaming bread sticks. It took twenty more minutes, during which both Lisette and Janine carefully explained the specials available that night in excruciating detail, making sure to add their own personal recommendations, before their orders were finally taken, and they were allowed to sit in peace.

 

“I have to agree with Tony,” Thor beamed, reaching for a breadstick. “The service here is quite attentive.”

 

“Yeah, it’s not too shabby,” Sam said, casting a playful glance in Bucky’s direction. Bucky just shrugged and went back to sipping at his soda.

 

“You alright over there, Buck?” Steve asked, wanting to make sure Bucky knew Steve knew he was there, had not forgotten about him, would never forget about him, no matter where they were.

 

“Don’t worry Steve,” Bucky assured him with a small shake of his head. “We’re good.”

 

“We’re just sitting here, laughing our asses off, wondering how many more buttons are going to be undone on Lisette’s top the next time she comes back,” Clint added.

 

The answer was three when the two waitresses returned with their food. Once more, Clint and Bucky’s meal were deposited on the table with an obvious indifference, while the women once again focused all their attentions on Steve, Thor, and Sam.

 

Lisette was in the middle of asking Steve about his uniform, and wondering aloud if he needed any help getting in and out of it, because it was quite tight, and did he have someone special at home to help him remove it whenever he completed a mission, before Bucky spoke up for the first time.

 

“Excuse me, Miss Lisette, but this isn’t what I ordered.”

 

“Yes, it is.” She glanced over her shoulder at Bucky with a indifferent shrug before she turned back to Steve.

 

“No, it’s not,” Bucky insisted. “I ordered a sirloin burger with mushrooms. This is a chicken salad.”

 

Lisette released a small huff of frustration, rolling her eyes at Steve, as if she expected him to agree with her that Bucky was being difficult for no reason at all, straightened from where she had been leaning over Steve’s shoulder, and snatched Bucky’s plate from in front of him.

 

“Fine, I’ll let the kitchen know you changed your mind. But we’re very busy tonight, so it might take a while,” she snapped before she stormed away from their table.

 

“Wow,” Clint said as soon as she walked away. “Really, just…Wow.”

 

“Sorry about that Bucky,” Steve said, going to slide his own burger in front of Bucky. Bucky shrugged it off.

 

“Don’t worry about it, Steve,” Bucky assured him again. “It’s fine.”

 

Five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen and still Bucky’s food did not arrive. Both Lisette and Janine returned to the table, time and time again, with either a hand to the shoulder, or a winsome smile, their backs always turned towards Clint and Bucky, as they repeatedly asked whether or not they needed anything, and were they enjoying their meal, and oh wow, it must be so hard for them to eat enough calories when they obviously worked out as much as they did. And had they tried the special sauce that came with their fries, _oh no, here, let’s me get one of those for you, isn’t it just the best?_ Steve was growing increasing uncomfortable, and they still had not brought Bucky’s food, even though Bucky had quietly reminded Janine this time that his order was still missing. She merely rolled her eyes at him.

 

Thor and Sam both seemed to be enjoying the attention, but Steve would have been perfectly happy to leave at this point. They were intrusive, obvious in their intentions, and rudely ignoring both Clint and Bucky. But Lisette was back, and asking him all about what it was like to be an Avenger, while leaning forward, her hair once again falling onto his shoulder, angling herself in such a way Steve could not help but notice her cleavage. He was trying to answer her question while avoiding her breasts when there was a hard kick to his foot and a sharp “ _Steve!_ ” from Clint at the other end of the table. Steve looked around Lisette to Clint, who cut his gaze to Bucky once he saw he had Steve’s attention.

 

Next to him, Bucky was sitting perfectly still, his head lowered. He had wrapped his stillness around him almost like…Almost like he used to whenever he had felt the need to call the Winter Soldier to the forefront. And his eyes…his eyes were flickering back and forth.

 

Even worse, from where he sat, even above the ambient noise of the crowded restaurant, Steve could hear the plates in Bucky’s arm starting to shift.

 

“Buck?” Steve asked, everything and everyone else around him suddenly forgotten. “Bucky, you all right?” Bucky didn’t answer him, but his eyes kept flickering. “Bucky,” Steve raised his voice. “What’s going on Buck?” Bucky slowly lifted his head and turned eyes that were cold and sharp in Steve’s direction.

 

“Bucky, where are you right now?” Steve asked, dreading the answer. Bucky stared at him for a second, until he blinked, just once, heavy and slow, and said something in Russian. Next to him, Clint jerked and then winced.

 

_Shit._

 

“Okay, come on, let’s get out of here and go get you something to eat.” Bucky had risen from the table, turned and was making his way toward the exit before Steve even finished speaking, cutting through the crowd with the deadly stride of a predator hunting down prey.

 

“What did he say?” Steve asked Clint, as he pushed himself away from the table and rose to his feet, Bucky already having reached the door.

 

“PG version…he said the HYDRA bitch took his food away and he was going to show her what happens to anyone now when they try to starve him,” Clint answered, standing from his chair.

 

“Excuse me?” Lisette snapped.

 

“Shit! I gotta go after him guys.” Steve backed away from the table and turned to go after Bucky.

 

“Go! We’ll take care of everything here,” Steve heard Sam’s voice call out to him as he bolted through the restaurant after Bucky.

 

Bucky was already at the end of the block by the time Steve made it out onto the street. His shoulders were drawn back, but his head was lowered as he cut his way through the crowds, turning left at the corner. But unlike Lisette and Janine, the people walking down the sidewalk were smart enough not to ignore him, and got out of his way as he approached. Steve forgot about the cold and everybody else as he bolted after him, desperate to keep Bucky in his sights before he managed to make himself disappear in that way only he could.

 

Thankfully, Steve could still see him when he turned the corner, and he put on an additional burst of speed, managing to catch up to him after only a few seconds, matching his pace to Bucky’s but making sure to keep two feet of space between them. Whatever this memory was, whatever flashback had risen from the depth of Bucky’s mind, it was a bad one, and Steve had to tread very carefully while simultaneously trying to pull Bucky back into the now.

 

“Hey Bucky,” Steve said softly from Bucky’s right side, trying to catch his gaze. Bucky glanced at him, but he didn’t stop his relentless stride forward. “Where are we going Buck?” Bucky didn’t answer him, just kept walking. “Do you know who I am?” Bucky flicked his eyes to him again, and then nodded. “Who am I?”

 

“You’re Steven.” His voice was still flat, but at least he was speaking English and not Russian now.

 

“Yeah Buck, I am. I’m Steven. Your Stevie. Do you remember that right now Bucky? That I’m your Stevie?” Steve asked. Bucky looked at him again, the flickering back in his eyes, before after a few more steps, he nodded. “Good, that’s good.” Steve wanted to reach out, to press his shoulder against Bucky’s, reach for his hand and take it into his own. But he had enough experience by now to know if he did, it would end in nothing but disaster for the both of them. So instead, he tried another approach.

 

“Do you trust me Bucky?” he asked, filling his voice with softness, with care, with all the love that had always been there between the two of them. He asked and then he waited, hoping it would be enough. Two steps, four steps, seven steps, nine. And then…

 

“Yes.” The essence of Bucky reaching out from the core of him to answer Steve’s call. And Steve’s heart rose like a lion from his chest, a silent roar that swore it would protect what was his.

 

“Will you let me get you food Bucky? Will you let me make your hunger go away?”

 

Two steps, four steps, seven steps, nine. And then…

 

Bucky stopped, his steps faltering.

 

“Yes,” he whispered, meeting Steve’s gaze directly for the first time in what felt to Steve like far too long.

 

“Okay, come on, let’s go get some food in you,” Steve said. He lifted his arm, moving with a careful deliberation, and slowly, slowly, gently, placed his hand on the back of Bucky’s shoulder. Beneath his fingers, Bucky’s muscles were rigid, trembling with their tightness. Steve looked around the street, searching for options. They were in the West Village, not too far from NYU, and Bucky had been making his way toward Washington Square Park. Steve had never been as thankful as he was right then for college students and their unhealthy eating habits as he spied a hotdog stand on the corner. “C’mon,” he gently urged, guiding Bucky toward the cart.

 

“Ten hot dogs and two Cokes, please,” he said to the vendor, holding out two twenties. As soon as the older man placed three hotdogs in his hands, he turned to Bucky and handed them over. “Why don’t you go sit over there and get started on these, and I’ll bring you the rest once they’re ready, okay Bucky?” Steve gestured to a nearby park bench with his chin, and then watched as Bucky slowly made his way over, sitting down, devouring the first hotdog in less than two bites.

 

He had already finished the second one by the time Steve came over with two more and a can soda, and he had consumed those by the time Steve sat down next to him with the rest. Steve didn’t say anything, just sat by his side quietly and allowed Bucky to eat in peace. He was on his eighth one, and Steve was just about to ask him if he wanted more, when from out of nowhere Clint approached, a bundle carefully held in his hands. Steve shook his head at him, a warning for Clint to back off, but he ignored him and slowly sat down on the bench on Bucky’s opposite side.

 

“Hey Bucky,” he said gently, lightly, easily. “You ever have one of these before?” He held out his hand to reveal a large pretzel, generously smeared with mustard. Bucky stared down at the pretzel and then up to Clint’s face, before he shook his head.

 

“No,” he said quietly.

 

“Hey, we’re back to English,” Clint grinned. “That’s awesome. Now here, take it. I can’t believe you’ve been back in the city for almost two years and haven’t tried a hot pretzel covered in mustard.” Bucky finished the last of his hotdogs, and then slowly reached out and took the pretzel from Clint’s hand, Clint smiling at him encouragingly the entire time.

 

“It’s good,” Bucky murmured after four bites.

 

“Yeah, I know. It’s one of my favorite things,” Clint agreed. As Bucky continued to make his way through the pretzel, Steve glanced up and saw Thor and Sam standing not too far away. They had their backs to the small tableau on the bench, not saying a word as they pretended not to watch. But they were using their bodies and their posture to create a shield that kept everyone else away, while Steve and Clint sat with Bucky and worked on bringing him back into the here and now.

 

It took a few more minutes, and a couple of more bites of the pretzel before Bucky groaned, shook his head and slumped forward.

 

“Back with us Buck?” Steve asked gently.

 

“Stevie?” Bucky rasped, squinting at him.

 

“Yeah Bucky, it’s me.”

 

“Shit.” Bucky lifted his hand to his head and rubbed at his temples. “What happened?”

 

“You had a flashback.” Steve draped his arm over the back of Bucky’s shoulder, knowing it would help ground him in the present now that the memory had finally released him.

 

“Fuck,” Bucky winced, shaking his head again. “I didn’t hurt anybody, did I?”

 

“No,” Steve was quick to reassure, because this, this was part of the essence of Bucky as well. “The waitress pissed you off and you just got up and got outta there.”

 

“She was a total bitch. Fucked up my order too,” Clint added cheerfully. Bucky turned his head, his eyes widening once he realized he and Steve were not alone.

 

“Goddammit,” Bucky hissed, closing his eyes. “I haven’t had one that bad in a while.”

 

“No, you haven’t,” Steve agreed. “But it’s okay. We’ll get through it, we’ve done it before.”

 

“It’s gonna happen sometimes,” Sam said gently, as he slowly made his way over, both Steve’s and Bucky’s coats held in his arms. “Sometimes something will trigger you, and it’ll just happen. But you handled it well. You removed yourself from the situation and then let Steve help you.”

 

“Are you all right now, Bucky?” Thor asked quietly from behind Sam.

 

“Head hurts,” Bucky admitted, his eyes still closed. “And I’m tired.”

 

“Do you think you can stand?” Steve asked. Bucky nodded. “All right then, come on, let’s get you home.”

 

“We called a car for you. It’s already on the corner, waiting to take you home,” Sam told him as Steve slowly rose and then helped Bucky to his feet.

 

“Thanks guys,” Steve said, his heart swelling with gratefulness as he took their coats from Sam and wrapped a careful arm over Bucky’s shoulder.

 

“Don’t sweat it man,” Sam said with a nod. “Just get your boy home and take care of him.”

 

“Sorry for ruining your night,” Bucky mumbled as he allowed Steve to guide him toward the waiting taxi.

 

“Oh please,” Clint waved away Bucky’s apology. “I got a chance to play chase the secret Russian agent through the city. I love that game. It’s how I got my Natty.”

 

“Really Clint?” Sam asked in disbelief.

 

“Really?” Thor asked in interest.

 

“What? It’s fun. You should try it sometime.”

 

As Steve got Bucky in the back of the taxi, all he could do was shake his head. Because these people, these people were a bunch of nutcases. But after Bucky, there was no one in the world he loved more.

 

Somehow, he would find a way to thank them. But not right now. Right now, he had to get Bucky home and take care of him. And find a way to keep Bucky from pulling away. Because he knew him, knew him in his blood and bones and marrow. Bucky was embarrassed, and he didn’t know yet, didn’t understand, that just like Steve, these people, the Avengers, were also with him until the end of the line.

 

But in the end, Steve didn’t have to do anything. Because bright and early the next morning all three of their friends showed up at the row house, and took care of it for the both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because you're all the ABSOLUTE BEST, have an extra chapter this week.


	26. Home Invasions

As expected, it was a rough night. But they’d had them before, and they would have them again, and they both knew how to handle it now.

 

Once they’d walked through the door, after Bucky had spent a few minutes soaking up the purrs and warm caresses of his furry babies, he went upstairs and took a shower. Then he’d dressed in a faded pair of jeans, one of Steve’s older sweatshirts and sat on their living room floor, the Pizzas curled around him, while Steve brushed his hair. It seemed to have soothed him, until Steve woke up in the middle of the night to discover Bucky gone from their bed. He found him downstairs in the Lay-Z-Boy, beneath his electric blanket, their cats using him as their pillow.

 

“Go back to sleep Steve, I’m fine,” Bucky told him when Steve asked. The television was on, the sound lowered, but Steve could see that Bucky had picked an old black and white Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracey movie to watch. Steve _tched_ at him, gone into their kitchen for a tub of brownies, and then came back to wedge himself in the Lay-Z-Boy, wrapping his arms around Bucky while the Pizzas protested, and then, stroking Bucky’s hair, asked him to restart the movie, as it was one of his favorites, settling in for the rest of the night.

 

“Sorry about tonight,” Bucky murmured three quarters of the way through the film. “Didn’t mean to embarrass you in front of your friends.”

 

“Don’t be an idiot.” Steve hadn’t paused in his stroking of Bucky’s hair, knowing it was helpful for the both of them. “I’m sorry you got treated the way you did. That waitress had no right to ignore you like that.”

 

“It’s fine,” Bucky sighed out.

 

“No Bucky, it’s not. Ain’t no one got the right to treat you that way.” Steve pressed a kiss to the top of Bucky’s hair. “You’re the best thing about me, always have been. Remember that, okay?” Bucky didn’t answer him, but he did shift slightly, burrowing in deeper so he could press his ear to Steve’s chest, searching for his heartbeat. “And they’re _our_ friends, okay? Make sure you remember that too.” Bucky didn’t respond, but Steve knew Bucky didn’t believe him.

 

A little while later, once the movie was over, and Steve finally asked about the flashback, Bucky confessed Lisette had reminded him of a handler he’d had, with similar features and the same blonde hair, who was one of the cruelest of them all. According to Bucky, she used to find it endlessly amusing to have Bucky kneel in the corner of her dining room for hours at a time, while she served a meal to her fellow members of HYDRA, forcing Bucky to watch. If, and only if, Bucky was very lucky, at the end of the meal she would sometimes toss a tiny piece of bread or a discarded scrap of meat, commanding him to remain still until the next morning, when she would use a different command code, and allow him to eat the food from the floor, while she pointed and laughed and called him a dog.

 

It had taken two more movies before Bucky’s shaking had stopped and Steve was finally able to let him go, after whispering over a thousand apologies into his hair.

 

A rough night, but not their worst. And they would get through it, just like they had before. As Bucky sat at their kitchen table the next morning, making his way through the second bowl of sliced fruit Steve had prepared for him, Steve made a mental plan in his head for the day. They would need to take it easy, so Steve ruled out any work on the house. But definitely a run. And then, Steve would make sure to take Bucky to see the women in his life, soft, kind, gentle women, just as generous with their love as they were with their food. Lulu would feed him, Joey would demand all his attention, and Dewy would place Nina in his arms, sharing her greatest gift with her brother, where the little baby would coo and gurgle up at him, giggling at whatever faces Bucky made at her.

 

Bucky was still quiet and a bit withdrawn, and Steve was wondering what was going through his mind as he fixed himself a cup of coffee, when there was an insistent knocking at their door.

 

“Sit, I’ll get it,” Steve told him, wondering which one of the Rodriguez women he would find on their doorstep, when he opened it without checking who it was (something that drove Bucky crazy) to find Clint, Sam and Thor all standing there. Clint’s arms were laden with paper shopping bags, Sam was carrying a tray, and Thor…Thor appeared to be holding a tree?

 

“Uh…hey guys?”

 

“Hey Steve,” Clint chirped happily, while behind him Sam smirked and Thor lifted his hand and made a little waving gesture with his fingers.

 

“Um, what are you doing here?”

 

“What does it look like we’re doing here?” Clint responded in that same voice. “We brought breakfast.” He raised the bags he was holding.

 

“I was told I needed to come along to help carry shit,” Sam grumbled.

 

“And I wanted to meet the little Earth dragons,” Thor added helpfully.

 

“Now c’mon Steve, move out of the way before the Pizzas get out.” Clint tried to push past him.

 

“Guys, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea right now,” Steve said, blocking their way.

 

“Oh please.” Clint ducked under his arm and made his way into the foyer. “We got fresh bagels. Bagels are always a good idea.”

 

“And lox,” Sam said, lifting the tray before he pushed his way past Steve.

 

“And seven types of cream cheese,” Clint’s voice called from the kitchen. Steve just stood there, staring at Thor, who hadn’t made his way through the doorway yet, glancing at the large potted plant he held in his hands.

 

“And a tree!” Thor beamed.

 

“A tree.” Steve repeated flatly.

 

“Yes, a tree. I was made to understand that it is customary among earthlings to present a gift whenever you are invited into their new dwelling for the first time. Bruce informed me that a plant was a traditional offering. So, happy new house Steven. It is an umbrella tree.” Thor shoved the tree at Steve, forcing him to catch it in his arms, and then stepped around him and into the house. “Now where are the little Earth dragons? I have been dying to meet them.”

 

Once Steve carefully deposited the tree in the corner by the door, he followed the sound of voices into the kitchen. As Clint made himself perfectly at home, digging through their drawers and refrigerator with an easy familiarity, Bucky’s eyes trailing him with a bemused expression while he pulled a platter and several plates from one of their cabinets, Steve realized that Clint had probably been spending a bit too much time in the row house.

 

“So the little orange one’s Pepperoni, and she’s an absolute sweetie, just a little cuddle muffin, which makes sense, cos she’s Steve’s really. Mushroom’s the tortie by Bucky’s feet, another sweetheart. And Sausage is the little chatterbox down here.” Clint bent over to scritch Sausage’s ears, who chirped at him happily in exchange. “And that black one on Bucky’s shoulder,” Clint rolled his eyes. “That’s Meatball. Stay away from him. He’s a mean little sonovabitch, nearly tore my finger off the other day. The only one he lets hold him like that is Bucky, so, you know, pet at your own risk.” While Clint pulled a bottle of orange juice from the refrigerator, Sam unwrapped the platter he had been carrying, placing it on the table, and Thor started crooning, bending over and then straightening with both Mushroom and Sausage in his arms, looking happier than Steve had ever seen him.

 

“What the hell are you all doing here?” Bucky finally spoke.

 

“What does it look like?” Clint answered easily. He seemed to take everything Bucky did or said in stride. “We brought breakfast. Bagels. I mean, I know the ones you guys get from Rueben’s are pretty good, but you haven’t tried these yet. There’re from this place in midtown, not too far from the Tower and they’re even better.”

 

“I wanted to finally see the house, since it’s been over a year and _somebody_ hasn’t invited me yet.” Sam glanced at Steve over his shoulder.

 

“And I wanted to meet the little Earth dragons,” Thor chimed in, from where he was leaning back against the counter, Pepperoni having somehow managed to join her brothers in his arms.

 

“And we wanted to check in on you, and make sure you were okay,” Clint said softly.

 

“The both of you,” Sam added quietly.

 

“You’ve got friends now Bucky,” Clint continued kindly, pressing a gentle hand to the back of Bucky’s neck. “More than just Steve. Learn to live with it.” Bucky rolled his eyes, but Steve couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t pull away from Clint’s touch.

 

“Now,” Clint pulled back and clapped his hands. “Where do you want us to set all this up? Kitchen or living room?” Bucky glanced at Steve.

 

“Up to you, Buck,” he said with a smile.

 

They ended up in the living room. Over bagels, lox and cream cheese, coffee and fresh juice,  they sat down and settled in for a late brunch. Bucky was quiet at first, and Steve could see from the way he was holding his shoulders that he was wary and unsure. He’d had a flashback, a rough night, and now there were new people in his home, and Steve could see he didn’t know what to make of that just yet. But as the morning passed into the afternoon, and no one pressed Bucky for more than he was able to give, something in him allowed itself to breathe. He was still quiet and a bit withdrawn, but it was an easier quiet and more relaxed as the time passed and he sat on the couch next to Thor, with Meatball draped over his shoulder and Pepperoni in his lap. He spoke when he had something to say, and just listened when he didn’t, eating his bagels and feeding small pieces of lox to Meatball whenever he mewled at him. Steve gave Sam and Thor a tour of their house, (all except for the last room on the third floor, their room, and their room as it was now and it had been over eighty years ago), pointing out all the details he and Bucky had so carefully restored. They still had the two main rooms on the first floor to paint and refinish, as well as the front steps to work on, but Steve was proud of the work they had done, all of the careful craftsmanship they had learned in order to restore their building.

 

“It is a beautiful home, Steven,” Thor said with a nod once the tour was done. “And I can easily see why you would rather live here with your Shield Mate than in the Tower.”

 

“You guys have done a great job,” Sam agreed. “Especially since you said the place was a dump when you first moved in.”

 

“I’m trying to convince them to let me move into the third bedroom upstairs!” Clint called from the living room. “Because holy shit, have you seen the size of the tubs in all of the bathrooms?”

 

“Yeah, I’m sure Nat would really love that Clint,” Steve called back.

 

“She’s never here.” And for all that Clint was joking, Steve knew there was a bit of truth in it. Unlike the rest of them, Natasha did spend the majority of her time away on assignment, and Steve knew Clint was oftentimes lonely. It was probably why he already spent as much time as he did with them in Brooklyn. Steve had always gotten along well with him, and he could see that Clint had a bit of a crush on Bucky, in the way that oftentimes happened when friendship were new. Having been there himself, Steve could completely understand. And even during one of his bad days, there was still no one, _no one,_ that Steve would rather be with.

 

“You couldn’t afford the rent,” Bucky grumbled.

 

“I do dishes,” came Clint’s easy retort.

 

As if to prove his point, a few hours later, Clint stood with Steve and Sam in the kitchen, helping him wash the dishes, while Thor sat on the couch with Bucky, playing with the Pizzas.

 

“Thank you guys, for this, for all of it.” Steve kept his voice low as he took the freshly scrubbed plate from Clint’s hands. “It really helped.”

 

“Don’t mention it man.” Sam slapped his back.

 

“He looks like he’s doing better,” Clint said just as quietly, casting a quick glance over his shoulder at Thor and Bucky, who was actually smiling now.

 

“He is,” Steve nodded.

 

“Did he say anything about what set him off last night?” Sam asked.

 

“He has a thing about food. It’s one of his triggers. HYDRA starved him while they had him, and when our _waitress_ took his food away and didn’t come back with anything else, it set him off,” Steve whispered. At his side, Clint shook his head.

 

“Natty’s the same way,” he sighed. “Apparently HYDRA was very big on using food as a punishment. She never says, but she’s always worried about not having enough to eat. Even now, I still find hidden stockpiles of food in our apartment. Jars of peanut butter, packets of crackers, boxes of granola bars or cookies. She freaks out if I even touch them.” Steve lowered his head and closed his eyes. He hadn’t known that about Natasha, but now, especially after everything he had learned from Bucky, it made sense.

 

“It’s a standard brainwashing technique. Food’s necessary for survival and by controlling someone’s access to it, you can force a co-dependency on them. Makes them easier to control. It’s not uncommon, and quite a few of the vets I’ve worked with have food issues they struggle to deal with,” Sam explained.

 

“ _I fucking hate them,_ ” Steve hissed through his teeth, the towel he had been using clenched in his hand.

 

“You’re not the only one,” Clint said, and then handed another plate over to Steve.

 

“You both have a right to,” Sam acknowledged. “But they’re strong, the both of them. And your boy, he’s come a long way Steve. I never would have believed it back when this all started, but he keeps surprising me every day.”

 

“Yeah.” Steve couldn’t stop the smile he felt spreading across his cheeks. “Me too.” And then he glanced over his shoulder to look at Bucky, just in time to watch as Thor reached out for Meatball. And Meatball, that nasty, little black fur-covered son of a bitch, who hissed at Steve constantly, batted at his ankles, and sliced his hands whenever Steve tried to pet him, and puked in his shoes, and only his shoes, on purpose, Steve was convinced, stretched and then easily strode from Bucky’s shoulders and into Thor’s waiting arms, where he curled up and started to purr, while Bucky smiled.

 

“ _Are you fucking kidding me?_ ”

 

***

 

Later, much later, that night, after their company had left, and it was just the two of them again, curled up in their bed, Steve ran his fingers through Bucky’s hair and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

 

“Pretty good bunch of friends we’ve got, wouldn’t you say?”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed quietly. “They’re good people.”

 

“Good enough for an invite to Casita Pepe maybe?” Steve dared to ask.

 

Bucky didn’t answer him for a long time, just lay there quietly with his head resting against Steve’s shoulder, the palm of his right hand over Steve’s heart.

 

“Yeah, maybe.” Bucky’s voice was quiet in the night. “I’ll ask Mami about it tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter the Rodriguezes are back. Feel sorry for Steve. Feel so so sorry for Steve. 
> 
> **hugs to you all, cos you're the best**


	27. Kaleidoscope

“So, guys, I know Bucky invited you all personally to Casita Pepe,” Steve said a week later as he led the three of them towards the stairwell of the 53rd Street station of the R train. “But this is more than just his favorite restaurant. This is a big fucking deal for him. The women there, well…They’re our family, and Bucky’s _extremely_ protective of them. He didn’t even invite me there until a few months ago. So, just, you know, be respectful. Because this is an honor, as far as Bucky is concerned.”

 

“Of course Steven,” Thor readily agreed.

 

“Family?” Sam asked. “But I thought all of your family, well…”

 

“You’ll see,” was all Steve said with a smile. And they would.

 

Bucky was waiting for them on the corner when they emerged from underground. As soon as he saw Steve, he came forward to give him a kiss and a quick hug before he smiled at everyone else. They’d had a good week, and Bucky was back to his usual self – he was always watchful and observant, aware of everything going on around him, but in a way that was calm and relaxed. He’d been sleeping through the night, and well, Steve had a few new bite marks on his body in places he would never show anyone. But then again, so did Bucky.

 

“Good day Stevie?” he asked as he casually slipped his hand into Steve’s.

 

“It was all right,” Steve answered. “Good to be home though.”

 

“Hungry?” Bucky smiled at him.

 

“Starving,” Clint answered for them all.

 

“Well come on then.” Bucky turned and began to lead them toward the little brownstone with its subterranean restaurant on the corner of 54th Street. “They’re waiting for us.”

 

Steve couldn’t wait.

 

***

 

Steve could feel the curiosity of the others behind them as they made their way toward the now very familiar glass door, and couldn’t help but remember how not too long ago he had felt the exact same way. But it was different now, they were different now from how they had been just a few months back when Bucky first brought him here that day in the second week of July.

 

Or maybe not so different, as Bucky once again held open the glass door so the others could step past him, and the sound of a baby’s wailing filled the air.

 

“Go get Nina, Buck,” Steve said as the door closed behind them. “I’ll get everyone settled. Lulu said the back room was okay?”

 

“Yeah.” Bucky was already moving, quickly striding toward the back area of the restaurant from where Steve could hear the steady _click-click-click_ of Dewy’s heals approaching.

 

“Gracias a Dios, Bucky,” Dewy said as she emerged from the curtained doorway, wearing a clingy black sweater, a tight-fitting pair of faded jeans, and a pair of black velvet high heeled boots embroidered with pink flowers, carrying Nina. “She started crying again as soon as you put her down and I can’t get her to stop.”

 

“Okay, okay nena, come on, come to your tio. I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” Bucky reached out and took Nina into his arms, cradling her in his left one, the plates coming to life, while he began to rub his right hand in small circles over her belly. “Calmate, calmate, it’s okay.” And just like always, whenever Bucky held her in the absolute security of his arms, within fifteen seconds, her high pitched wails trailed off into small, tiny gasps, that turned into tiny, sweet little gurgles while she stared up at Bucky, reaching up to swat at his cheek with her tiny, drool covered fist. “Better huh?”

 

“I swear to god Bucky, I don’t care if Steve doesn’t have a gag reflex, I will buy you every goddamned vibrator in Brooklyn myself if it means you’re always here to get her to stop crying whenever she starts.” Dewy was leaning in to accept Bucky’s kiss to her cheek while she spoke. Behind him, without even needing to look, Steve could tell that Sam, Clint and Thor had all gone very still.

 

“It’s not the deep throating Dewy, it’s the ass, you know that,” Bucky laughed.

 

“Yes well, it _is_ a very nice ass, but you know I like yours better,” she said, and then turned around to face Steve, her arms already open. “And shut up Steve, you know you agree with me.”

 

“Especially since you were the one who convinced him to get those jeans,” Steve said, pulling her into a tight hug.

 

“Yes well, I was just doing my duty for America,” she laughed, and then stepped back. “Now come on, introduce me to your friends before the little terrorist shows up and none of us will get a word in edgewise.”

 

“Um, Steve, who’s this?” Sam asked. Steve stepped away from Dewy and looked at Bucky.

 

“Guys, this is Dorcas Rodriguez, Dewy,” Bucky said with a warm smile. “Dewy, this is Sam, Thor and Clint, Stevie’s teammates.” Dewy turned and gave them a quick but thorough study, smiling gracious and warm.

 

“Hello boys,” she said, as she held her hand out to each of them. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” And then she looked at Bucky again, her smile foxlike and sly. “I thought they’d be taller.”

 

“Really Dewy?” Bucky arched an eyebrow at her and then glanced down at her shoes. “Cos you’re one to talk?”

 

“Shut up,” she laughed again. “You love my shoes.”

 

“They’re fucking awesome,” Bucky agreed as she began to lead them toward to back room. “And you wear ‘em so damned well.”

 

“Of course I do,” she tossed over her shoulder. “And maybe sometime soon I’ll spend less time with them on my feet and more time with them over somebody’s shoulders.”

 

“Do I need to pick you up some more batteries the next time I go to Costco?” Bucky asked, while behind him Sam started to make a choking noise. Steve was very familiar with that sound; he used to make it quite a bit at the beginning when he had first witnessed the way Dewy and Bucky talked to each other. But he loved it now, loved the way they were so easy and carefree together, their rhythm and their banter, that he now got to share. He glanced over his shoulder to see Clint slapping Sam’s back. Thor, on the other hand, was absolutely beaming.

 

“They’re like this all the time,” Steve explained. “You’ll get used to it.”

 

“Told you she was going to chew them up and spit them out,” Bucky said.

 

“Oh please Bucky,” Dewy said as she pushed the curtain aside and made her way into the small, family dining room. “You know I never spit. I always swallow.” And that was when Clint started to make the same choking noise as Sam. “Now, you boys sit yourselves down and make yourselves comfortable. I’ll let my mother know you’re here. She’s been cooking all day.”

 

But Lulu was already waiting for them as they entered the room, standing at the head of the table, the family matriarch, wearing a deep blue sweater and fitted black trousers. As soon as Bucky saw her, his smile grew even wider and softer, if that was possible. And Steve loved this too, loved the way Bucky was around these women that he loved and cherished and adored. That he did as well.

 

“Oh Mami,” Dewy sing-songed. “Your little stray cat and his boyfriend have come back, and they’ve brought their friends with them this time.”

 

Without any hint of hesitation or restraint, Bucky went up to her, hugging her with his free arm. She said something quietly into his ear, kissed his cheek, and then pulled back to cup his cheek in her hand as she always did, smiling her warm and all-encompassing smile. And then she shifted and brought her gaze to Steve, her arms already opening.

 

“Venga hijo,” she said, with a small wave of her hand. “Dame un embrazo, because it’s been two days since I last saw you and I’ve missed you.” Steve came forward, reaching for her, because it was his turn now; his turn to hug this woman whom he loved as much as Bucky did, and whose arms were almost as safe.

 

“Hola Lulu,” he said, returning her hug, unable to stop his smile when she pulled him down even lower so she could kiss his forehead.

 

“You are good?” she asked him.

 

“I’m great,” he answered.

 

“Bueno.” She let him go, and then stepped back to take in the rest of the room, straightening her shoulders as she did. “So tell me boys, who have you brought me to feed this time?”

 

***

 

The introductions were made, and everyone told to make themselves comfortable at the table. Sam, Clint and Thor were remarkably subdued. Steve couldn’t tell if it was because they were heeding his advice from earlier, their awareness of the unique dynamic that was built around this house and its kitchen, or simply because these women demanded it from them, each in their own unique way and they were trying to get a lay of the land. Sam and Clint kept glancing from Bucky, who sat in his usual seat while he held a now sleeping Nina in his arms, to Steve and then back to Lulu. Thor was studying the room, taking in every detail, before returning his attention to Lulu as well. Dewy was watching all of them with an amused smile, and Steve knew that later on tonight, after everyone had gone, they would spend a long time gossiping about the evening. Lulu was as calm as she ever was, unperturbed by the latest visitors her son had brought to her, graceful in her role as hostess.

 

Until she opened her mouth, and Steve remembered that Dewy wasn’t the only one who could use a turn of phrase.

 

“So,” she said, turning to Bucky. “First it was un idioto con un plato. Now it’s un pollo volador, el estupido hermano menor de Robin Hood, y un gringo con un pingo pequeno con un grande martillo. Really Bucky, you need to get some better friends. Or at least let me set you up with Freddito. If it’s the uniform thing, remember he’s a fireman. And he has full benefits.” Lulu had cast her gaze upon each of them as she spoke, and whatever she said caused Bucky’s eyes to widen and for Clint to burst out laughing.

 

“Really B-man? You’ve been holding out on us!” he cackled.

 

“So at least one of them has a personality,” Lulu said and then turned back to Clint. “Tu habla espanol?”

 

“Si, Senora,” Clint said in an accent nearly as flawless as Bucky’s.

 

“And you finally brought home someone who speaks the right language,” Lulu sighed.

 

“What did she call us?” Sam asked out of the corner of his mouth.

 

“I think I’m the idiot with the plate,” Steve muttered back.

 

“You are,” Clint snickered. “Sam’s the flying chicken. I’m Robin Hood’s stupid younger brother. And Thor, well, she called him the white boy, who obviously needs a hammer that big because he’s compensating for something.”

 

“Oye, hijo,” Lulu said, grabbing Clint by his ear and yanking, while at the same time Thor straightened in his seat and said,

 

“I will have you know, I have no need to compensate. And if anything, it is Mjolnir that is the smaller of the two.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Dewy hummed. “And I’m sure that’s exactly what you say to all of those women – what are they called – with the horns on their head and the metal bustiers?”

 

“Valkyrie,” Thor supplied, while in the background Lulu continued to speak to Clint in rapid Spanish. “And they are warrior women, some of the best defenders of Asgard.”

 

“You would look great in one of those,” Bucky said from across the table.

 

“I would, wouldn’t I?” Dewy preened. “But it would have to be when I’m not breastfeeding. I wouldn’t be able to pull my breast out from one of those. And then the milk would probably drip all down the front and into my pants, and that would just be disgusting.” And for the first time since Steve had met him, Thor was speechless. He blinked at Dewy once, twice and then again before he turned to Bucky.

 

“I agree with Clint,” he finally said. “You have been holding out on us Bucky.”

 

But Bucky was no longer paying attention to them, staring instead at Lulu and Clint. And then, in another first for Steve, Steve watched as his eyes widened and his cheeks turned a bright, vivid red.

 

“Mami!” he hissed, while next to him Clint had buried his face in his arms on top of the table he was laughing so hard.

 

“What did she say to him?” Sam asked.

 

“She said –“ Clint gasped. “She said that Bucky chose the right one, because at least Steve’s outfit doesn’t hide anything, and she can understand why Bucky always walks in with a smile on his face, even if she does prefer Steve’s ass herself.” And then he went back to howling on the table, while Steve felt his cheeks grow as red as Bucky’s.

 

“Well it is a very nice ass. Everyone can see that, even if I do prefer Bucky’s, myself,” Dewy voiced her opinion.

 

“Why do you think Steve is always walking in with a smile on _his_ face?” Lulu asked her daughter.

 

“He didn’t jump Bucky back when he had that jacket, so I don’t think it’s just his ass that’s putting that smile on Steve’s face.” Dewy’s expression was filled with absolute glee. Across from Steve, Clint was laughing so hard he had started to choke. Thor had gone back to being silent, and Sam was looking at all of them as if they were insane.

 

“That’s it,” Bucky grumbled, rising from his chair. “I’m taking Nina and going home. Have a nice meal guys, welcome to Casita Pepe.”

 

“You’ll do no such thing,” Lulu said, pressing Bucky back down into his seat. “I made chuletas especially for you, and mofongo for Steve.”

 

“Okay,” Bucky agreed easily. And apparently, Lulu’s words were enough to get Clint to stop laughing, because he lifted his head and stared at Lulu, with wide eager eyes.

 

“Mofongo?” he asked. “You make mofongo?”

 

“Si,” she answered him. “My grandmother’s recipe. I make it with pork or shrimp. Which do you prefer?” In response, Clint just groaned.

 

“What is mofongo?” Thor asked.

 

“Oh Thor, you’re gonna love it,” Clint groaned again, wiggling in his seat he was so happy.

 

“It’s _really_ good,” Steve had to admit. Thor nodded.

 

“And what about you?” Lulu asked, turning to Sam. “Would you like to try some mofongo? Bucky prefers my pork chops, but it was my mofongo that I first fed him when I wanted him to keep coming back.”

 

“Okay,” Sam said, even if he looked a bit unsure about what he had just agreed to eat.

 

“All right then,” Lulu said with a final nod. “You all just sit back and relax, and I’ll get you some bacalaito to keep you while I prepare your mofongo.”

 

“Bacalaito,” Clint moaned blissfully.

 

“It’s amazing,” Steve nodded at him.

 

“Do you need any help?” Bucky asked, once again moving to rise.

 

“No mijo.” She kissed the top of his head. “You sit here and relax with your friends. Besides, your Joey should be here any second, and you’re not going to want to miss that.” With that she turned, and strode elegantly out of the room and up the stairs that led to her private kitchen.

 

Less than three seconds later, Steve heard the by now long familiar _stomp-stomp-stomp_ , and then a low voice aimed in Sam’s direction, that growled,

 

“ _You. Are. Sitting. In. My. Seat._ ”

 

***

 

And that was how Sam, Clint and Thor were first introduced to Dewy, Nina, Lulu and Joey.

 

Once Sam switched his chair, apologized to Joey, and received a ten minute long list of _The Rules_ , she scrutinized everyone in the room with narrowed eyes, huffed and then sat herself down next to Bucky with an expectant gaze.

 

“Here we go,” Dewy hummed quietly under her breath.

 

“Hey Joey,” Bucky winked at her.

 

“Bucky,” she said in her snotty little way. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your _friends_?”

 

“Right. So everyone,” Bucky began quite formally. “This is Josefina Luisa Marianna Rodriguez.” And then he paused and smiled at her. “My best friend Joey.”

 

“But they can’t call me that,” she declared sharply, but she was returning Bucky’s grin.

 

“No, they can’t,” Bucky agreed. “And Joey, this is Thor, Wilson and Clint.” Joey stared at each as Bucky pointed them out to her, until her eyes fell on Clint, when suddenly her gaze, which had been sharp and cutting, turned wide and curious.

 

“This is Clint? Your Clint? The one you’ve been telling me about?”

 

“Yep, that’s him.” Bucky nodded.

 

“Hey Josefina,” Clint said easily, holding his hand out to her. “It’s nice to finally meet you. B-man over here has told me lots about you. Said you’re the coolest person he knows.” Steve watched in amazement as the two of them did some complicated dance with their hands, before they finished and Joey was pulling her chair even closer to the table.

 

“Bucky says you’re the best archer in the world, and he would know. Is it true that you can shoot an arrow in two?”

 

“Thanks Buckster.” Clint nodded at Bucky and then turned back to Joey. “And yep, I can. Pretty easy for me actually. Is it true that you hacked into Tony Stark’s servers?”

 

“Oh please.” Joey crinkled her nose. “I can do that from my phone. Took me less than six minutes the last time I tried. And he’s still a big pervert. I found the pictures he took of his dick with doughnuts on it.”

 

“Really?” Both Bucky and Dewy asked at the same time.

 

“Really,” Joey nodded as she reached for her cell. “But he’s really small, could only fit two of them on it. And they weren’t even good doughnuts. No chocolate ones.”

 

“Hey now,” Steve tried to interrupt as Joey handed her phone to Bucky. Bucky stared down at the screen, his eyebrows raising, while Clint shamelessly looked over his shoulder.

 

“Huh,” Bucky grunted, passing the phone to Dewy.

 

“Well,” she said after a few seconds of study, using her fingers to enlarge the picture, while Thor peered over her shoulder. “Why the hell would anyone put doughnuts on their dick?”

 

“I dunno man, sounds like a perfectly good waste of doughnuts to me.” Bucky shook his head.

 

“Hey now,” Steve tried again. But they ignored him.

 

“Seriously,” Joey cut in. “And I mean, it’s only two. In The Baker’s Boner he was able to get seven on his dick.”

 

“I didn’t like that one,” Bucky frowned.

 

“Me neither, it was boring,” Dewy agreed with him, handing the cell back to Joey.

 

“Buns of Love was better,” Joey declared as she put her phone to sleep.

 

“Wait a minute. Doesn’t Tony usually serve doughnuts at those early morning meetings he’s always calling?” Clint wondered aloud.

 

“I’d stay away from the cream filled ones if I was you,” Bucky muttered from the corner of his mouth.

 

“Ugh!” Clint groaned, and even Thor was starting to look a little green.

 

“But apparently, you only need to stay away from two of them,” Dewy giggled. Bucky burst out laughing.

 

“See, this is why I’m a lesbian,” Joey announced. “We don’t do shit like that with doughnuts.”

 

“After those pictures, I’m thinking of becoming a lesbian myself,” Bucky snickered.

 

“Yeah, but that would make Steve sad. And then everyone would hate you for making Captain America cry,” Joey said.

 

Dewy nodded. “And then he would stop wearing those pants we all love, and the rest of America would hate you for that.”

 

“Oh my god! Will you just stop it with the pants already?”

 

“They are very fitted, Steven,” Thor decided to join in.

 

“Yeah, but I have to agree with Dewy,” Clint said. “Bucky definitely has the better ass.”

 

“Thanks,” Bucky smiled at him.

 

“And Josefina, Buckster was right,” Clint went on. “You are the coolest person in the world.”

 

“Agreed,” Thor nodded.

 

And then, this thirteen-year-old young woman, who was all little hisses and frustrated huffs, preened at them, actually smiling so wide that she revealed the little tiny fang, that she only showed when she was truly pleased.

 

Steve was sorry he had ever asked Bucky to invite them to Casita Pepe, because he was certain it was only going to get worse from here.

 

And that he was never, ever, going to eat another doughnut at the Avengers Tower ever again.

 

***

 

It settled down after that, once Lulu returned with first their appetizers, and then the rest of their dinner. It was its usual controlled chaos, patternless but with its own rhythm, and both Bucky and Steve now knew the steps and how to slip in and out of the waves of banter, laughter, concern and family.

 

It was obvious Lulu had gone out of her way to prepare an even better feast than usual. There was mofongo, with its usual pieces of savory pork, but also chicharrones, crispy, fried bits of pork skin that were perfectly salted. There was arroz con pollo y gondules, and then arroz blanco con habichuelas guisades. She had even prepared a pan of pastelon, still one of Steve’s favorite foods, alcalpurrias, banana fritters stuff with a savory meat filling, and serenata de bacaloa, a seafood salad. She also served pegao, a particular favorite of Bucky’s, the crispy crust from the rice that was deliberately browned and scraped from the base of the pot once the cooking was done, crunchy and flavorful and unlike anything Steve had ever tasted before. And that did not include the potato salad, and huge platter of tostones she had proudly placed in the center of the table, as well as endless bottles of Malta and Coco Rico. Clint had politely refused the Malta, choosing the coconut soda instead. Steve knew better by now, and had tried to warn Sam with a subtle shake of his head that was ignored, and led to Sam coughing as he slapped at his chest. Thor, of course, ended up loving Malta, declaring it was a drink worthy of an Asgardian feast, and was already on his third bottle.

 

While Steve sat and ate this food that had come to mean home and family to him, he casually observed Thor, Clint and Sam as they tried to make sense of all they were seeing. Bucky was sitting across from Steve, Lulu on his right at the head of the table, and Joey at his left. He was eating one handed, Nina cradled in his arm; she was still colicky, and even fussier than usual lately, and needed to be held as much as possible in order to remain calm. They had tried putting her into her baby seat once the food arrived, but as soon as Bucky let go of her, she resumed crying. When Clint asked about it, it was Dewy who replied.

 

“It’s because he makes that arm of his vibrate while he holds her, soothes her like nothing else.”

 

“Really B?” Clint asked, reaching out to press his hand to Bucky’s left arm. It was a testament to their friendship that while Bucky lowered his head shyly, he didn’t pull away from Clint’s touch.

 

“It seems to work,” he said quietly, shoving another spoonful of rice into his mouth, ignoring the way both Thor and Sam were staring at him now as well.

 

“Huh,” Clint said with a small grin. “That’s kinda cool.” Bucky just shrugged.

 

“Well,” Dewy cut in. “Now you know why _Steve_ always has that little smile on his face as well.”

 

“Oh my god,” Steve groaned while Bucky glared at her. But it had worked, because when Steve looked up the mood around the table had shifted. Thor was laughing, Clint had gone back to eating, and Bucky looked annoyed instead of embarrassed. When Steve glanced at Dewy, she winked at him. Steve smiled back, finished the last of his rice and put his fork down.

 

“Here Buck, I’m done. Let me take Nina for a bit so you can finish eating.” Steve rose from the table and went over to Bucky, who was glaring at him now instead of Dewy.

 

“You’ve had your turn Bucky, let your Stevie have a chance now so you can finish eating,” Lulu scolded him gently. “You know she’ll be back in your arms in fifteen minutes. Let her other tio spoil her for a bit.”

 

“Gimme the baby, Bucky,” Steve said, reaching for Nina. But in spite of all of Bucky’s frowns and grumbling, this too was an exchange they had perfected. Steve pulled the small towel from Bucky’s shoulder, draping it over his own, and then reached out as Bucky seamlessly transferred her into his arms.

 

“Hey Nina,” Steve smiled down at the small, soft, baby-powder smelling miracle in his arms, and went back to his seat as she blinked up at him.

 

“Here, give her this if she starts fussing.” Dewy reached down into her ever present baby bag and handed Steve a teething ring.

 

“She seems fine,” Steve said softly, running his hand over the back of her head.

 

“How old is the little one?” Thor asked from over Steve’s shoulder.

 

“Six months,” Dewy answered.

 

“And she is healthy?” Thor pressed.

 

“Very, thank god,” she nodded. “She’s still colicky, but that’s really the only issue we’ve had. And well, you’ve seen how Bucky is with her. But she’s teething now, which is fun for my nipples, let me tell you, but it makes her even fussier as a result.”

 

“How long do earth women breast feed for?” Dewy cocked an eyebrow in Thor’s direction at his question, but then she looked back at Nina in Steve’s arms, smiled softly and shrugged.

 

“It depends,” she answered. “It’s different for every mother. I’ve tried to breastfeed all of my children for at least eight months.” She reached out and ran her fingers over Nina’s soft curls. “But she’s my last one, and I was hoping to do it for at least a year. But she’s got a healthy appetite, and my nipples are raw.”

 

“We have this cream on Asgard, given to new mothers, to help them with that.” Thor smiled down at Nina. “I can bring you some, the next time I visit earth, if you like.”

 

“Oh my god, if it works, both me and my nipples would be grateful,” Dewy smiled at him.

 

“And the fact that she is getting her teeth so young is a very good sign. It means she has a warrior spirit and is getting ready to prepare herself for battle.” Thor lifted his hand and carefully wiggled his fingers in Nina’s face. She followed the gesture with her eyes, and then reached out, grasping one of his fingers in her own, before she pulled it into her mouth. Thor laughed.

 

“Mistress Dewy, can I hold the little one?” he asked. And Dewy did what she always did, and looked to Bucky in a silent inquiry.

 

“It’s all right,” Bucky said softly with a nod. “He’s safe. I wouldn’t have brought any of them here if they weren’t.”

 

“Thank you for saying so Bucky,” Thor acknowledged solemnly with a nod of his own, and then turned his attention back to Dewy.

 

“Well, you can try. But she’s a fussy little thing and very particular about who she lets hold her.” Dewy was saying as she reached into her bag and came back with another towel for Thor to drape over his shoulder.

 

“Here, make sure you support her head –“ Steve explained as Thor reached out with his big hands for Nina.

 

“I do know how to hold a baby, Steven,” Thor cut him off. “Every new child born in Asgard is presented to me so that we can welcome them to our court.”

 

“Yes, but…” And then Steve fell silent. Because Thor had already lifted Nina into his arms. There were a few seconds where her face squinched and she looked as if she were about to cry, but Thor just held her gently, smiling down at her. She blinked at him, once, twice, and then relaxed, grinning up at him with a gummy grin, giggling as she reached up and grabbed his chin.

 

“Well, look at that,” Dewy smiled, leaning back in her seat.

 

“Hello little Miss Nina,” Thor beamed at her. “It is nice to meet you. I look forward to seeing the warrior queen you will become.”

 

“And when she only wants to date body builders when she grows up, you’ll know why,” Lulu said from across the table.

 

“Oh please.” Joey rolled her eyes. “If she only wants to date body builders it’s because tia and Bucky always stop by Bruno’s gym when they go for a walk to watch the men work out for at least a half an hour through the glass windows.”

 

“What?” Steve asked.

 

“Well, it _is_ a really nice view,” Dewy sighed happily.

 

“It really is,” Bucky agreed.

 

“What?”

 

“I like to watch them lift weights,” Dewy went on.

 

“I like to watch them running on the treadmill. They always get so sweaty,” Bucky added.

 

“Mmm-hmm,” Dewy hummed happily.

 

“I like it when they spot each other,” was Lulu’s contribution.

 

Their conversations diverged from there, Thor asking Dewy question after question about Nina, and how human mothers cared for their children. Clint was talking to Lulu, and from the pleased glint in her eye, it was obvious he was complimenting her cooking. Sam was unusually quiet, but he seemed to be enjoying the food, and Joey and Bucky had wrapped themselves in their own tiny bubble of hand signals, rolled eyes and quiet murmurs. As Steve sat there, his belly full, surrounded by warmth and all of the people he loved, all he could do was marvel at the satisfaction he felt. These were good times, and he could share them in this place that was safe, with these people, all of them, who were so different, but whom he loved so much.

 

That feeling lasted until Steve noticed that Joey and Bucky were leaning in even closer than they usually did, whispering to one another, which meant they were discussing something of great importance for the two of them. It disappeared completely once he began to actually pay attention to what they were saying.

 

“You are not fat, Joey,” Bucky said in a tone that was somehow both sharp and gentle. “And the next time we go for a walk, I’m gonna tell you about the girls I used to chase after when I was younger. And trust me, it wasn’t the skinny ones.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Oh yeah,” Bucky smiled at her. “And there was this one, Kimmie Lynch, who was absolutely gorgeous.” He was still smiling, but there was something in his eyes, not a flicker, but maybe a spark, that spoke of experiences fondly remembered. “She had these hips Joey, and I used to watch her walk for hours.”

 

“Kimmie Lynch?” Steve asked, because he hadn’t known that.

 

“I chased her for weeks before I finally convinced her to go out with me,” Bucky ignored Steve and went on. Dewy and Lulu had also caught on, and were leaning closer, as had everyone else. Because it was rare, it was truly rare that Bucky ever talked about his life in Brooklyn before the war. And he was doing that now. Steve could also see the way Bucky and Joey were enfolding themselves around one other in the way that they had, unique to their friendship alone.

 

“Was she pretty?” Joey wanted to know.

 

“She was gorgeous,” Bucky smiled. “She had this long curly red hair, that hung all the way down her back that she used to toss over her shoulder all the time.”

 

“Did she have freckles?”

 

“Oh yeah,” Bucky nodded. “She had them all on her shoulders and her arms and the back of her neck. I spent one night trying to kiss them all.”

 

“You did?” Steve’s eyebrow suddenly started to twitch.

 

“More than Lionel?” Joey asked.

 

Bucky took a few seconds before he answered. “’Bout the same, I’d say.”

 

“Lionel,” Steve said flatly.

 

“Wait? Who’s Lionel?” Dewy wanted to know.

 

“Bucky’s boyfriend from the war,” Joey tossed over her shoulder.

 

“Wait a minute, you had a boyfriend during the war?” Dewy asked. “How come I didn’t know this?”

 

“Not really a boyfriend,” Bucky said, before turning back to Joey.

 

“Oh please Bucky, you told me you slept together at least eight times –“

 

“Eight?” Steve asked, glaring at Bucky.

 

“And that you used to share your cigarettes with him. From what I’ve read that meant he was your war husband,” Joey finished.

 

“Where’d you read that?” Bucky squinted at her.

 

“It was in Sergeant Scotty and His Seven Inch Salute.”

 

“Did you send that to me?”

 

“No, it was stupid, you’d hate it. Even I could tell the author didn’t get the guns right.

 

“Well, at least Scotty has seven inches, and not just two,” Dewy interrupted. “Because Tony’s Two Inch Salute just doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

 

“It really doesn’t,” Lulu agreed.

 

“ _Anyway,_ ” Bucky cut them both off and turned back to Joey. “The point being, Joey, you’re beautiful the way you are, and some of us definitely prefer a woman with a little more meat on her bones. It was that one, over there,” Bucky lifted his knife and pointed it at Steve, “that used to waste all of his time chasing the skinny ones. But not me.” Bucky smiled at her, at his strange, brutally honest, sharp but adorable little best friend, all warmth, respect and honest appreciation. And when she smiled back, Steve could see the same things in her gaze. Until she turned her head to glance at Steve, and narrowed her eyes.

 

“Well that’s because he’s gay, and what he really wanted to do was fuck boys,” she said in her snarky, and suddenly a lot less adorable, way. Next to Bucky, Clint started choking again. Steve picked up his fork and looked down at his plate of food, with its last morsel of pork still waiting for him, and shook his head with a small smile.

 

“Just one boy, Josie,” he said quietly, honestly, and without any shame. “It’s always been just the one.” When he looked up, it was Bucky who had lowered his face and was smiling softly down at his plate. Joey was still staring at him, her eyes shrewd. But after a few seconds, she must have seen something in Steve that met her approval, and she nodded as if content.

 

“Well,” she huffed with a toss of her head and her wild curls. “At least you have good taste.” And then she reached over and snatched the last tostone from Bucky’s plate.

 

***

 

And that was how the first dinner with the Rodriguez family went.

 

The rest of the meal passed uneventfully from that point on, or at least as uneventfully as any meal with their family passed. Joey snarked, Dewy turned everything into an innuendo, and Lulu sat and observed, sometimes interjecting her own commentary, but mostly just happy to be around people who enjoyed her food. Eventually she excused herself, dragging a complaining Joey with her, while Bucky and Steve carried all of the dishes and platters upstairs and helped her to load them in the dishwater. Lulu pulled Bucky aside and spoke quietly to him for a few minutes, smiling the entire time, hugging him once they were done. Then Steve and Bucky went back to the little room downstairs, taking turns holding Nina once Dewy was done breastfeeding her, while over cups of coffee she shared her love of life and laughter with her adopted brother and the friends he had finally introduced to her.

 

There was only one last, tiny snag after that, when sometime past midnight, Dewy decided to turn in, and Bucky went upstairs to help her get Nina settled down for the night.

 

“So, uh, Dewy huh?” Sam asked, his eyes lingering on the back door through which the two of them had disappeared. He had remained quiet for the rest of the evening, barely saying a word, and Steve suddenly had a feeling as to the reason why.

 

“Yeah, what about her?” he asked.

 

“She’s uh, she’s gorgeous,” Sam said.

 

“She’s very beautiful,” Steve agreed. “And smart too. Runs her own business, that’s very successful from what I understand.”

 

“She uh, she seeing anybody?” Sam asked, still staring at the door. Steve squinted at him, while from somewhere in the background Clint snorted.

 

“Sam, you know I love you man, right?” Steve began.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“And you know I’ll never be able to thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me and Bucky, right?”

 

“It was my pleasure Steve,” Sam grinned, slapping Steve’s back.

 

“Right,” Steve nodded. “And it’s because I love you that I’m saying this to you now. Dewy, that beautiful woman you’ve been following with your eyes all night?”

 

“Yeah, what about her Steve?” Steve could practically see the sparkles in Sam’s eyes as he spoke. And Steve loved Sam, with all of his heart, he really did. But, well Bucky…

 

“She’s Bucky’s sister.”

 

“What?” Sam asked, turning to face Steve for the first time.

 

“She’s Bucky’s sister,” Steve repeated lowly. Clint snorted again.

 

“And that means she’s Steve’s sister-in-law by default,” he added helpfully.

 

“Yeah. That.” Steve crossed his arms.

 

“Oh,” Sam said, the light quickly fading from his eyes.

 

“Yeah. _Oh._ ”

 

“It’s just, she’s –“

 

“And here’s the other thing you need to remember Sam,” Steve cut him off before he could say anything else and make the situation worse. “Bucky’s just like me. He was injected with a serum as well, and it upped our hearing. In fact, his is probably even better than mine. Because I can never sneak up on him. But Bucky, he’s a master at sneaking up on people. You should try not to forget that.” And then Steve very slowly and very deliberately looked over Sam’s shoulder.

 

When Sam turned around, Bucky was standing less than a foot away, his arms crossed, glaring at him, as still as a statue and as silent as a cat.

 

“Oh, uh, hey Bucky,” Sam said, taking a step back. “You have a – you have a really nice family, you know.” Bucky said nothing, his only movement the slightest narrowing of his eyes.

 

“I did not know Sam could run that fast,” Thor said to Steve fifteen seconds later, while Bucky tried to pull Clint to his feet, from where he had collapsed into a laughing heap on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, but once more I just need to give a shout out to my AMAZING beta Merry_rf. You have no idea what a miracle worker she is, and seriously, everything is so much better because of all of her generous time, attention to detail and wonderful feedback. You're an absolute star and deserve all of the chocolates, Thin Mints and good things. XO
> 
> And, as you know, comments are always greatly appreciated. Bucky says he'll even be willing to share his tostones - Once he's had a VERY SERIOUS and IMPORTANT conversation with Sam. **wink**


	28. Surprises

The Rodriguezes really were an amazing family of women; intelligent, funny, warm and welcoming. But so were Steve’s friends. And the introductory dinner had gone amazingly well. So well in fact, that it was the catalyst for even further changes in their lives, that really, once again, should not have caught Steve as off guard as they did.

 

Clint started to spend even more time in Sunset Park, he and Bucky going off on their own for hours at a time, or heading over to their local park with Steve for a game of basketball. If Natasha was back, they barely saw him. But when she was away, Clint usually spent at least two nights a week at the row house, and always insisted on going to Casita Pepe with Steve and Bucky, where he became fast friends with Joey, who he started to call Jojo, and Lulu started to prepare an extra serving of pork mofongo, which was Clint’s favorite dish. Clint always danced happily in his seat when she slid his bowlful in front of him.

 

Whenever Thor was around, he would happily go to someplace new for lunch, as long as they made sure to bring him back to Lulu’s house for dinner, where he smiled and beamed and seemed to soak up the atmosphere of love and family like a sponge. He had a fondness for Lulu’s sancochos and her pastelon, which he always devoured happily, while sipping from his own bottle of Malta. On his second visit, he came with a gift for Nina, a small stuffed hammer, which quickly became her favorite toy. And while no one could soothe Nina’s cries or make her coo as happily as she did whenever Bucky held her, she soon grew accustomed to being held in the muscular arms of Steve and the rest of his teammates, as they all took turns holding her while they ate.

 

Then there was the day Steve headed straight for Lulu’s house after his visit to the Tower to find both Bucky and Thor there, sitting on the living room floor. Steve hadn’t even known Thor had come for a visit, but apparently he had, and decided to come to Brooklyn instead of Manhattan first. He was sitting with his back against the couch, a huge bowl of arroz con pollo in his lap, while Joey sat behind him, braiding ribbons into his hair.

 

“I don’t even want to know.”

 

“Hello Steven,” Thor boomed happily with a wave.

 

“Hey Stevie,” Bucky said, not even bothering to look up from his plate of pernil. There were clips in his hair as well, that had been pulled up into twists of braided pigtails.

 

“They’ve been here for hours,” Dewy laughed as she kissed his cheek. “Josefina had a bad day at school, and asked if she could braid their hair, and well, as you can see.”

 

“You’re next,” Joey said from the couch.

 

“It really is quite relaxing Steven,” Thor smiled.

 

“Uh…”

 

“Go sit down with them,” Lulu called from her kitchen. “I’ll bring you some pastelon.”

 

“Okay,” Steve said. What else could he do?

 

Not too long after that, Steve drove back from the city after picking Sam up from Penn Station. Their house was empty when he got there, and after dropping Sam’s bags off, they walked over to 54th Street to find Bucky, Clint and Thor, on ladders outside of Casita Pepe, in the middle of changing the restaurant’s awning, Joey sitting on the front steps, supervising.

 

“Uh…” Steve drawled.

 

“Don’t even ask,” Bucky grumbled.

 

“She promised us pasteles if we did this for her,” Clint said.

 

“Pasteles, Steven!” Thor called from the top of his ladder. “Even I know what a rare treat those are.”

 

“Right,” Steve said. And then he sighed and rolled up his sleeves. “Get down from there Clint. The awning’s too heavy for you to keep holding it up like that.”

 

“Hey!” Clint protested.

 

“Move it, and pass me that power drill once you’re down there.”

 

Thor laughed, Bucky winked at him, and Steve got to work, while Sam surreptitiously looked around for Dewy, and Joey shot him glares that could match Bucky’s. 

 

But they were right, the pasteles were definitely worth it.

 

And all the while, there was Bucky. Bucky in his life, and in his home, and in their bed. And he was blooming, blooming, blooming even more right before Steve’s very eyes. There were still the bad days and the occasional nightmare, followed by a few sleepless nights. They now knew and accepted there probably always would be. Seventy-five years of torture and abuse would not just go way, and it was going to leave its scars. But Steve thought it was a very small price to pay for the life they had now, the life he never could have hoped for in his wildest dreams.

 

Because Bucky laughed and smiled more than he ever had before. After those first few weeks, he had taken the introduction of Steve’s friends into his life with a remarkable ease, and now considered them his own. He was not the Bucky from before, would never be that man again, always watchful, always a bit wary of his surroundings, but he had his reasons for that, and they were valid ones. Truth be told, neither was Steve. So it was okay. It was better than okay. They could grow and change and become these new people together. Step by step and day by day.

 

But that still didn’t mean Bucky couldn’t take Steve by surprise. And he still often did. Like the night not too long after they first introduced their family to everyone else, and Bucky asked Steve for something he never thought Bucky would.

 

***

 

They were finally in bed together, their wet clothes scattered throughout the house, after a long and challenging run through the streets that ended up with them bolting home when the skies opened up and let loose an endless torrent of cold rain. They had scrambled up their front steps and into the house, drenched to the bone, laughing as they leaned against each other shivering from the cold. They stumbled inside, kicking off their shoes, Steve locking the door behind them, while Bucky tilted his head and let the house speak to him in the language they shared. Steve turned and saw Bucky standing in their foyer, his wet clothes clinging to the rippled muscles of his body, his hair a web of black ivy sticking to his cheeks and the back of his neck, and suddenly _burned_.

 

Bucky met his gaze, his eyes blazing with their own fires of blue, and then they were coming together, crashing against each other in a frenzied collision of kisses and gasps and desperate, needy hands. They nipped at each other’s skin, tore at clothes and pulled at wet hair as they clambered and climbed their way up the stairs and into their bedroom, the first room, the only room, the last room that was the heart of their house, the heart of their lives, the first place where they had come together like this, and where the truth of them always beat at its strongest.

 

They fell into their bed, pushing sheets and pillows aside, to collapse in a heap of still wet skin and straining erections. Steve was on his back, his legs spread with Bucky in between them, Steve’s hands clenched in Bucky’s hair to hold him close so he could steal kiss after kiss from Bucky’s hot, lush mouth, when Bucky pulled back slightly, breaking the seal of their lips, only to lean over so he could whisper in Steve’s ear, “Hey Stevie?”

 

“Yeah Buck?” Steve moaned back, already smiling at whatever dirty, little promise Bucky was going to make him.

 

“Can I be the one who rides you tonight?” he asked.

 

“What?” Steve was so shocked by Bucky’s request he actually froze.

 

“Yeah Stevie, you heard me,” Bucky said, but his voice had shifted. It was still breathless, still heated, but serious now, thoughtful as well. “I wanna be the one who feels you inside of me for a change. Been wanting to for a while now, and I think I’m finally ready for it.”

 

“Are you sure Buck?” Steve asked, pulling back to stare at Bucky as he reached up with one hand to push a wet lock of hair behind Bucky’s ear. Steve wanted, oh god, _he wanted_. But there were reasons why they had never done this before, and he needed to make sure, make absolutely sure, that this was something Bucky was ready for. Because it would change everything, and if he made a mistake now, there would be no going back, and the damage could be irreparable.

 

“Yeah Steve, I’m sure,” Bucky said to him, holding himself still, steady, letting Steve see in his eyes the truth of his words.

 

“Color?” Steve asked, because this was the language they had agreed to use.

 

“Green,” Bucky swore solemnly, and then smiled.

 

“Then yeah Buck,” Steve smiled back. “I’ve been dying for a chance to try that.” Bucky laughed, leaned forward and kissed him.

 

“Well then,” Bucky reached down between them and grasped Steve’s dick in his right hand. “Let’s see if we can find a way to get this big, beautiful boy inside of me.”

 

“How do you want to do it?” Steve gasped, his eyes already closing from the feel of Bucky’s fingers alone.

 

“Just like I said Stevie,” Bucky was back to whispering in his ear. “I wanna ride you.”

 

There was a bit of shifting and a few adjustments to their positions after that, but eventually they settled with Steve on his back, and Bucky on top of him. It also quickly became obvious that if this was going to happen between them, it had to be this way. If Bucky was going to be able to relax enough to not only do it, but also enjoy the experience, he needed to be the one in control. He wouldn’t even let Steve prepare him, something they both greatly enjoyed now, Bucky’s trust in Steve so true he could easily take three of Steve’s fingers into his body. Instead he knelt over Steve and had him watch while he covered his own fingers with lube and slid them into his body, slowly working himself open with one hand, his eyes on Steve, who could do nothing but lie there and try to control his breathing. And then the bastard covered his left hand in a generous coating of lube, and used it to grasp Steve’s throbbing cock, until it was just as shiny and slick.

 

Until it seemed as if even Bucky had had enough teasing and he was rising on his knees and positioning himself, reaching behind him to press just the very tip of Steve’s erection to his asshole, holding himself perfectly still, staring down at Steve.

 

“Whenever you’re ready Buck,” Steve promised him softly, gently running his hands up and down over Bucky’s taught thighs. “It’s all you. Just go at your own pace and take all the time you need. And if you’ve changed your mind, that’s okay too.”

 

Bucky nodded, just once, smiled, just a bit, and then slowly began to move.

 

Steve was mesmerized as he watched, frozen in that moment as tried to memorize every flicker and emotion that crossed Bucky’s face. It was a struggle, a challenge, to keep his focus, because his dick was slowly, _oh so slowly,_ being surrounded by a tight, clinging heat as Bucky’s body sucked him inside. But he couldn’t let go, couldn’t lose himself to the overwhelming sensations flaring from his groin and up along his spine, because he needed to pay attention, and make sure that no matter what, Bucky remained with him, and in the present, and above and beyond all that, that he always felt safe.

 

Steve could tell from Bucky’s expressions exactly what he was feeling. He knew those feelings quite well himself. The initial pull and burn of muscles previously untouched. How those muscles stretched, stretched, stretched to the point where it was overwhelming, and it was easy to think that _no, no, this was too much, it’s too much, it wasn’t going to work, it wasn’t going to fit_. But how just at that point when he had always wanted to give up and admit defeat, the pull and the stretch turned into an ache, and something finally let go and released, desperate and hungry, and now needing more, more, and even more before it was finally satisfied, and became bliss, and joy, and _ohmygodthisissogood._

 

He could see it all on Bucky’s face. The way it twisted and tightened, the corners of his mouth pulled back into a slight frown. He had closed his eyes, and his forehead was deeply furrowed in concentration as he used his strong, muscular thighs to control his descent. Steve could see the veins in his neck, taught and sharp, throbbing with each beat of his heart, and Steve couldn’t help but think that it might just be too much for him.

 

“Breathe Buck, breathe,” he urged softly, once again running his hands over Bucky’s thighs. “Just breathe and try to relax. It gets better Bucky, trust me, it gets so much better, but you have to relax and let it.” Steve continued to stroke, to soothe, hoping it would help. “And if you can’t, if you need to stop, then that’s okay too Bucky. We’ll stop. Whatever you need Bucky, this is all about you.”

 

It seemed as if those were the words that needed to be said, that Bucky needed to hear. Because as soon as Steve finished speaking, that something within, the body’s own gate of permission released, and Bucky slid even further down Steve’s body, until Steve was completely encased by the throbbing and clenching heat of Bucky’s own.

 

Bucky’s head was thrown back, his eyes still closed, his lips still curled in their downward frown. But where before it had been in an obvious clench of pain, it now looked more puzzled, slightly confused, until even that slowly faded away, and Bucky just sat there, perfectly still, his thighs a bridge of heated, slick skin over Steve’s hips.

 

“Buck, you all right? You still with me Bucky?” Steve asked.

 

As if Steve had summoned him, his jaguar from its den, Steve’s own personal dragon from its cave, Bucky lowered his head, his hair a cascading waterfall of earth kissed rain, and slowly, oh so slowly opened his eyes, two sharp blue slits that glittered in the dark.

 

And then he smiled.

 

“Color Bucky?” Steve could barely speak the words, barely push them through the pounding of his own heartbeat in his throat. Because Bucky looked….

 

Wild and savage and the absolute most beautiful thing Steve had ever seen. And he was there, crouching over Steve in the stilled and heavy air of their bedroom, fierce, and deadly with that fierceness, in the night.

 

“Oh, it’s green Stevie,” he growled through lips that had curled into a sharp grin. “It is _so. Fucking. Green._ ”

 

And then he started to move.

 

He circled his hips, pulling them back and forth, short, sharp little thrusts that dragged along the length of Steve’s dick, exploring, shifting, discovering his own pleasures as he moved and leaned and rocked. And all of the while, he moaned.

 

“Oh god, you feel so fucking good Stevie, so fucking huge, but oh my god, so fucking good. Been wanting this for so long Stevie, so long, but oh yeah, it was so worth the wait.”

 

Those were the last words he spoke for a while, because he suddenly jerked, his eyes widening. And Steve knew he had found it, just the right tilt and angle of his hips that would rub the head of Steve’s cock over that one perfect spot, hidden deep within, which would change everything Bucky thought he knew about his body. His dick, which had softened slightly at the initial breach, returned to its full hardness, and Steve felt a hot splatter on his stomach as it began dripping a steady stream of pre-come from its slit.

 

Then Steve lost even his awareness of that, because Bucky reached out with his hands, grasped Steve’s shoulders, and turned Steve’s body into a tool for his pleasure. And all Steve could do was let him, give himself and his body over to Bucky, and let him carry them wherever he may.

 

It passed in a blink and flowed like forever, as Bucky held Steve pinned beneath his thighs and rode him harder than Steve had ever been ridden in his life. Steve may have been the one inside of Bucky’s body, but it was Bucky who was taking him, swallowing him whole, devouring him through his skin. He shifted and he thrust and he rolled and he clasped in a sweaty clench of skin and bone rattling groans that left Steve helpless to do anything except lie back and let him, praying he would survive.

 

Because Bucky was going to kill him, and he was going to do it through an agonizing pleasure Steve knew he would take with him to his grave.

 

But eventually, eventually, just as Steve thought the skin would melt from his bones from the heat Bucky had created between them, it seemed as if Bucky had finally, finally had enough. Between one gasp and the next, his body arched, and he threw his head back with a final, breathless laugh, as he came hot and hard, shivering as he spent his seed all over Steve’s stomach, chest and even his neck.

 

The sight of it alone would have been more than enough to drive anyone to madness, but when combined with the impossibly tight clench of Bucky’s ass around Steve’s throbbing, aching, yearning dick, Steve had to admit a blissful defeat, and he closed his eyes, his own back arching, and came and came and came inside of Bucky’s body.

 

And there, there, barely audible beneath the pounding of Steve’s own pulse in his ears, as he crashed and shuddered and his bones rattled from the shock of it all, the soft and sultry serenade of Bucky’s pleased laughter.

 

When Steve was finally able to open his eyes, it was to find Bucky staring down at him, his hair surrounding his face in ripples that put Steve in mind of autumn breezes and falling leaves. And he was smiling at Steve.

 

“You all right there Stevie?” The smile was even in his voice.

 

“Me? I’m fine,” Steve managed to gasp. “What about you Buck? How was that for you?”

 

“Eh, it was all right.”

 

“Jerk,” Steve laughed. And then he reached up to run his fingers through Bucky’s hair, to cradle those leaves and all of the wind’s promised kisses in his hands. “Seriously Bucky, how was it for you?”

 

Bucky turned his head slightly so he could kiss Steve’s palm. “It was amazing Stevie, and I am feeling so good right now,” he said honestly, a rumble of satisfied contentment in his voice.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Oh yeah,” Bucky sighed. But then he pulled back slightly, and started to wiggle his hips, a strange expression of wonder rolling over his features. “Huh,” he said after a minute. “I can feel you all up in there Stevie, dripping out of me. Is this what it feels like when I do this to you?”

 

“Yeah, it does,” Steve smiled.

 

“Huh,” he said again, and then wiggled some more. “It’s kinda nasty.” He paused and looked back down at Steve. “But you know what?”

 

“What?” Steve asked.

 

“I think I kinda like it,” he said. And then he smiled, and it was the smile he only smiled when the two of them were alone, and Bucky’s inner jaguar decided to come out to play. And Steve knew then that their night was far from over. He was proven correct less than a second later when Bucky used his serum enhanced flexibility to lean forward and slowly start to lap up his own spend from Steve’s chest, making sure to give each of Steve’s nipples a tiny, little flick with the tip of his tongue. Steve’s cock, still held tightly in the clench of Bucky’s body, hadn’t softened. But at that first lick from Bucky, it grew even harder. Feeling it, Bucky laughed.

 

“Well, well, well,” he said as he lifted his head. “Gotta love those serums and that recovery time, huh?”

 

“Oh yeah,” Steve nodded and then swallowed. Because Bucky was moving again, and it wasn’t to pull himself free.

 

“Mmm-hmmm,” Bucky hummed, reaching out and wrapping his fingers around the bars of their headboard. “Now hold on cowboy. We’re just getting started, and I plan on riding you all…night…long.”

 

And that’s exactly what he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So um...that happened. Yee-haw?


	29. Choices - Part I

His life was so different now.

 

Two and a half years ago, when he had first stood face to face with this man who would end up changing everything, he had no idea that the life he lived now was something he could have. Something that was possible. Something he had not been able to comprehend he could want.

 

It had been simple at first. And so overwhelmingly complicated. To want.

 

The first time he could remember having that feeling, _want_ , was as he stood on the shores of the Potomac, and stared down at the body of this man as he lay there bruised and bloodied in his torn uniform, when something new and unfamiliar had risen up from his guts.

 

He wanted him to live.

 

It had been brief and fleeting, cuttingly poignant. But not enough to make him stay.

 

The next thing he could remember wanting was an identity. Who was he? Where had he come from? What had he been called?

 

The Smithsonian had given him an answer, a partial one at least. James Buchanan Barnes. It was just a name, one with no resonance for him yet, but at least it was a start.

 

After that, his greatest desire had been for his freedom, stronger than all of the previous ones had been, but undeniable and one he would fight for more fiercely than anything that had come before.

 

Then it had been for an awakening and a reconciliation. The memories had started to return to him, brief flickers that at first made no sense, but grew increasingly cohesive as more and more time passed. The Bucky part of him had finally awoken, after seventy-five years of slumber, and was starting to reach out.

 

But there was also this other part of him, the part of him that was the who of what he had been forced into, who was also reaching and just as tired, just as desperate. But also refusing to be denied.

 

So he started the process, the braiding, the weaving of the two pieces of him into one, hoping they could mesh and not destroy each other in the process.

 

The next thing he could remember wanting was for this man again, this strangely familiar blond man who kept pursuing him across the country to just leave him the fuck alone. He was being quiet, he was not killing anyone, and so what if he helped a few strangers from time to time, just _go away, stop, leave him be_.

 

But then one day, a year and a half after their last encounter, what Bucky had wanted, after listening to the words from this man that he had finally remembered, was to just go home.

 

And so he had.

 

To this place that was new and strange, but yet somehow familiar to him, in the echoes of his heart, the whispers of his bones. And what he had wanted then, more than anything was a life…and a clean house.

 

He couldn’t have the first, not just yet, but he could have the second. And as he worked on that, he discovered that the first had slowly started to build itself on its own.

 

There were more wants after that. To rebuild the building that had become his domain, to remember more, to have enough food to keep his endless hunger at bay, to have a place in this world where maybe the broken pieces of him could fit. To not just survive, but live. And to always, always, always have the right to choose.

 

And Steve.

 

It was the first choice he could remember making not out of a matter of survival, or practicality, or because any of the other options were worse. But simply because he remembered Steve now and he wanted to.

 

So many other choices since then, and mistakes made, and more wants than he could have ever imagined possible during those initial, desperate days. And what a funny thing it was, he sometimes thought, how choice could bind you and yet still be so freeing at the same time.

 

He wondered if that was something Steve could ever fully understand, if anyone could. He knew Steve felt the weight and burdens of his own choices; but Steve had always been able to make them, been able to find a way to get what he thought he had always wanted. A healthier, stronger body, a chance to fight the bullies, an opportunity to make a difference and build a better world. The price had been high for him, excruciatingly so at times, but it was one that he had been willing, was still willing, to pay. Bucky had paid his own prices, paid in blood and pain and fear and screams, but not by choice, never his own choice.

 

And yet now, here they were, in this same house that had once been their home, together in a way they had never been before, because they had both wanted, and they had both made a choice.

 

Sometimes Bucky would look at Steve, and laugh quietly to himself at the irony of it all. Because in reality, they really had not been separated for very long. Bucky had fallen from the train, and Steve had willingly buried himself in a coffin of ice. Steve had slept, but so had Bucky, once the Asset had been created. He was the one who had become two who was now one, and James Buchanan Barnes and the Asset who had been were now permanently fused into the Bucky of now. And really, Bucky could admit to himself in the darkest hours of the night, neither of them had ever been very different from the other. Intelligent, cunning, relentless, determined to win at all costs, and fierce when called into battle. Bucky supposed the Asset was who he had always been, when all of his choices and wants were stripped away.

 

But Steve didn’t need to know that, if he hadn’t already figured it out by now.

 

He probably had.

 

And yet he still loved Bucky anyway.

 

Such a strange thing, life. Such a different thing now for him than it had once been, filled with friends and family and cats and food and a beautiful home. And choices and desires and wants.

 

And a lover, a partner, a companion to walk with, and the other half of his heart, his Stevie, who he had always wanted and would always choose above all others.

 

Who also tended to take up most of the bed, and hog all the blankets. But that was okay too, Bucky thought, as Steve stirred behind him, because he gave off more heat than a furnace and liked to run his fingers through Bucky’s hair and press his lips to the back of Bucky’s neck whenever he first woke.

 

“Morning,” Steve murmured, as he laid another kiss the nape of Bucky’s neck. Bucky grunted at him, because he could make this choice as well. And he chose not to be a morning person. But Steve just laughed, kissed him again, and then tightened his arms around Bucky’s waist and pulled him in even closer. “How are you doing?”

 

“Are we talking now?” If anyone asked, Bucky would have said it was the Asset who was whining like that. This time Steve snorted.

 

“I know you’re awake, Bucky,” he said. “Don’t even try to pretend.” Bucky grunted again. “Did you sleep okay?”

 

“Like a baby,” Bucky answered truthfully.

 

“And are you okay…After everything we did last night?” Steve asked cautiously. And good old Stevie. Because they had done something different and new for the both of them last night, and he was making sure to check in. So Bucky made a choice, and decided to answer him honestly. Stevie deserved nothing less.

 

“Steve,” Bucky said as he rolled onto his back so he could look up at Steve. “I feel fucking amazing right now.” And he did. He was a little tender, and maybe a bit sticky, in a few places, but he felt warm and happy with the world, and content in a way he never knew he could be, a newly discovered want Steve had helped him to satisfy. He also finally understood what Steve meant when he said that whenever Bucky fucked him, he felt loose and easy in his skin, his hips. It was definitely a nice feeling.

 

“Yeah?” Steve beamed down at him.

 

“Yeah Stevie, I do.” It was Bucky’s turn now to reach up and run his fingers through Steve’s hair, a little longer that it had been, but nowhere near as long as his. “How ‘bout you? How are doing this morning? I wasn’t too much for you to handle last night, was I?”

 

“You wish,” Steve sneered down at him, but his eyes were sparkling in the morning light. “So uh…Do you think that’s something we’re going to be doing again?” Bucky decided to fuck with him.

 

“I dunno. Maybe,” he said, although his body was already to start to scream yes, _yes_ , _Yes_.

 

“Maybe?”

 

“I’ll think about it and get back to you.” Bucky rolled over onto his side and pulled the covers over his head.

 

“You asshole!” Steve laughed, yanking the blankets away. Bucky flopped back onto his back, reached up and pulled Steve into his arms to kiss him.

 

“Okay, I thought about it, and the answer’s yes,” Bucky panted when they pulled apart. Because _holy shit_ , did he love and want this man.

 

“What? Now?” Steve asked, but his eyes had already darkened to the blue of an encroaching storm.

 

“If you’re up for it.” As if the answer wasn’t obvious, pressing itself into the crease of Bucky’s hip.

 

“Are you up for it?” Steve asked, but he wasn’t being facetious or sly. He was honestly asking, concerned, because for Steve, his own wants were always going to be secondary to Bucky’s well-being and his sense of security. And it was a reasonable question. Bucky had ridden him, and ridden him _hard_ for hours last night, before they ended up collapsing on top of one another in a sweaty pile of trembling limbs, with barely enough energy to pull apart before they fell asleep. But well, there were definitely some perks to having been injected with a super-soldier serum, and enhanced healing and a rapid recovery rate were two of the best.

 

“I’m a little tender down there,” Bucky told him honestly. “But it’s a good kind of tender. Kinda nice actually.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Steve smiled. “The best kind.” He reached down and brushed his fingers carefully over Bucky’s asshole, his smile growing wider when Bucky only sighed in response.

 

It was different this time, than it had been last night. Bucky wasn’t desperate to prove anything, hungry for something he had never been able to give himself. And the memories of his past didn’t even flicker as Steve touched him. Because Steve was Steve, and Bucky had always trusted him, more than he ever had and ever would trust anyone in his life.

 

So they went slow. They loved to fuck, love to come together in a fast and furious rush, each trying to set the other’s skin to bursting with the fires of their desire. But they also loved to do this, to come together slowly, softly, taking their time, and melting together into one whole, who they were and who they had always been meant to be. Truth be told, Bucky preferred it this way. Because Steve’s body was all rippling muscle and broad shoulders and powerful thighs. But his truest strength, his greatest strength had always been his endless gentleness, and he loved to hold Bucky in his arms, and share that gentleness with him in a never ending river of kisses and strokes to Bucky’s skin that made his flesh sing.

 

He was doing it now, kissing, exploring, touching, breathing his love into each and every pore and cell of Bucky’s body, even his metal arm, because he loved that too, simply because it was a part of Bucky. He adjusted pillows, and carefully positioned, and even warmed the lube in his hands before he used his fingers to breach and then carefully stretch Bucky’s body. Then he was making his way inside, not pushing his way through, but sliding in, in a long, smooth and nearly painless stroke. And all Bucky could do, wanted to do, was let him.

 

This was a choice too. And Bucky chose to let himself be pleasured, adored, loved by the man who had chosen to be his lover. Let himself drown and believe in the strength of Steve’s arms, that never once let him go, and always fought to keep him safe, keep him protected, keep him close. Because that was Steve’s choice, and he had chosen to love Bucky, with his arms that were stronger than any storm, his insight more knowing than any Seer’s, and his heart that was bigger than all of the worlds in the galaxy.

 

When Bucky came, not too much later, it was with all of that inside of him. Because Steve had chosen to give that to him, share all the best parts of himself with Bucky, and how could Bucky not help but overflow with all of that abundance. Remade, reborn, but not altered, only better, and more, more, so much more than he ever thought he could be.

 

A few hours later, Bucky was standing on the roof, wearing one of Steve’s sweaters and scarves, enjoying a post coital smoke, staring up at the sky. Last night’s storm had long since passed, and Bucky was enjoying the way the crisp October air kissed his cheeks, when Steve burst through the doorway.

 

“Bucky.” His voice was sharp and urgent, his eyes intense. And Bucky knew what he was going to say next without Steve having to utter a word. “The Avengers have been called. If you’re coming with me, we need to go _now_.”

 

Bucky nodded, put out his cigarette and then dashed after Steve.

 

Because this too was a choice. And no matter who or where he was, he would always choose to follow Steve, and most importantly, watch his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are in the States, I hope you all have been keeping warm. If you are someplace else in the world, I hope you're enjoying your week-end. But no matter where in the world you are, once again, thank you so much for all of the lovely comments and kind words. They may not keep my hands warm, but they definitely fill my heart. <3 <3 <3 
> 
> And also, my amazing beta Merry_rf just posted the last chapter of her latest Stucky fic. If you are looking for all the soft, fluffy feels, you should definitely give it a read. It's called Snuggled up together like two birds of a feather.
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/17065562


	30. Choices - Part II

Bucky sat with his arms around Steve’s waist on the back of his motorcycle as they zipped past the traffic on the Verrazano Bridge. Tony Stark must have modified Steve’s bike, because the cars they passed were a barely distinguishable blur, while Steve relayed the information he was being provided from his tablet, which he had clicked to his dashboard. There was a heist going on in New Springville, Staten Island where it appeared as if some new organization, not HYDRA, but unfortunately just as well organized, was attempting to steal the contents of a previously undisclosed vault location, their goal to obtain all of the funds, and possibly other unknown items, stored inside. It was the unknown items that worried everyone. They may not have been HYDRA, but just like HYDRA, they were prepared, and had already corralled a bunch of civilians they were using as hostages.

 

It had taken less than five minutes for Bucky and Steve to hit the road. There had only been the slightest hesitation, when Bucky strode into the foyer, wearing the tac pants and one-armed vest of his Winter Soldier uniform, and Steve had done a quick double take, his eyes ending up on the pre-packed bag of weaponry Bucky held in his right hand. ( _Didn’t know about that one, did you Stevie?_ )

 

“Next on our list of things to do,” Steve said as he strapped his helmet on. “Getting you some new gear.”

 

And then they were on their way.

 

Bucky listened as Steve repeated all of the information JARVIS was providing him through the modified earwigs they both wore. (Joey’s eyes had gleamed when Bucky asked for her help, eager to get her hands on HYDRA hardware and their complex but highly developed programming.) As always seemed to be the case when it came to an Avengers’ call out, it wasn’t bad yet, but the situation was quickly deteriorating.

 

“ETA two minutes, guys,” Steve reported, skidding around a corner. Bucky found it both strange, and strangely comforting, how his body knew how to do this. How to mimic and lean and shift so their journey was smooth and flawless, in spite of the unbelievable speed they were travelling.

 

“So, Cap,” Clint’s voice cut over the bud in Bucky’s ear. His voice was flat, even, all no-nonsense, so different from his usual cadence of speech. “I’m gonna be the one to ask. Are we going to have extra back up this time?”

 

Steve glanced behind him, and with a silent sigh of resignation, Bucky nodded, just once.

 

“Yes,” Steve announced. “In fact, JARVIS can you synch yourself to my phone and patch 347-555-0872 into our com relays? **”**

 

_Confirm, Captain Rogers_ , the AI’s voice was suddenly sharp and clear in Bucky’s left ear. _Sergeant Barnes’ phone is now synched to our frequency and he will be able to hear everything that you do. And welcome Sergeant Barnes. It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance._

 

“ _Are you fucking kidding me?_ ” A new voice hissed over Bucky’s ear wig.

 

“Not now Tony,” Steve snapped. “ETA one minute out.”

 

“Is he going to be providing us cover?” It was a female voice that spoke this time. Bucky nodded again, knowing Steve would be able to feel the gesture.

 

“Confirm, Maria,” Steve supplied.

 

“Do you want east or west, Sarge?” Clint asked, his use of the title a deliberate choice, an indication of his respect.

 

“West,” Bucky answered, glancing around. They were less than half a minute out from the scene, and there was a twenty-story building coming up on their right. Bucky tapped Steve’s shoulder. “Drop me off here.” The bike barely slowed, but it was more than enough, and Bucky jumped off the back, his bag in hand, nodding curtly at Steve, just once, before he turned and bolted toward the building’s entrance.

 

It took him less than a minute to reach the roof, (and he was certainly glad he and Steve had kept up their running and training regimen) and he slid his rifle off of his shoulder as knelt behind the roof’s ledge, peering over it to survey the scene.

 

It was a disaster.

 

There were over seventy-five of the unknown organization’s agents on the ground, a third of which had been diverted to surround the hostages. Those remaining had split into two units, one which was transferring the items from the vault into an armored bus, and the other who had turned to fight the Avengers who had arrived to engaged. They were in black fatigues, each supplied with a full kit of weaponry, and were wearing helmets to protect their heads. ( _As if that would stop one of his HYDRA designed bullets,_ Bucky couldn’t help but sneer.) But apparently not all of the Chitauri weapons that were stolen had been recovered, because they also had lasers they were using, that were cutting through the glass and steel of the surrounding buildings and vehicles like a hot knife through butter. ( _Fuck._ )

 

Bucky watched from his perch as Steve pulled into the scene, leapt off his motorcycle and joined the rest of his teammates in combat. The Widow was there, as was Iron Man, who was using his suit to swoop and dodge and match their blasts with his own lasers. There was the brunette woman Bucky knew was Maria Hill, who was returning fire from the back of the Avengers’ BearCat, and Bucky found himself admitting that she wasn’t so bad of a shot herself. There was another young woman, a second redhead, who didn’t appear to be armed, but seemed to be able to lift the vehicles around her with a wave of her arms. ( _The Scarlet Witch_ , a memory of a provided data packet rose from the back of his mind.) But she was a blunt force fighter, unable to divide her attention between attack and defense. He knew Clint ( _Hawkeye_ , and it was so strange to think of him by that moniker) was there, and he spared a second to wonder if Wilson was on site, before from his left there came a swoop of red and white wings, followed by a rain of gunfire. So that answered that question.

 

“Sarge?” came Steve’s voice over his earbud as Bucky watched him toss his shield.

 

“In position,” Bucky answered flatly. “Now watch your back Captain, and let me do my job.” And then Bucky went radio silent, aimed his rifle, and fired.

 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

 

One after the other, they fell. When he couldn’t make a headshot, he aimed for their necks, always a vulnerability, and just as efficient, if a bit messier, at terminating a target. He never faltered, and he never missed. The only time he ceased fire was for the second and a half it took him to reload. And while he did, he shifted position, easily jumping from one roof to another. It was a good tactic, one that never gave away his position, as it kept shifting and changing, and his bullets would fly from a new location.

 

The rooftops also gave him the benefit of perspective, an overview of the battle, and he used that to his advantage. And _oh look_ , these people had learned their lessons from HYDRA. Because there was a sniper, perched on the ledge of the building across from him. And one whose scope flashed from the eight-floor window from the warehouse to his left. And one who had just burst out onto the rooftop where he had originally been perched.

 

Or well, three bullets later, there _were_.

 

He made no sound, and barely breathed, and only spoke when there was something he needed to relay to everyone else. But they were the Avengers, and even Bucky (and the little tiny bit of what was left of the Asset inside of him, that was purring and pleased) had to admit they were good at their jobs. But they were on the ground, and he was up high, and could see things they could not.

 

“Six fully armed agents approaching on your left, Natalia,” he spoke for the first time. She didn’t answer him, didn’t even nod, simply turned to engage.

 

“Incoming van, armored, approaching scene from the west.”

 

“On it,” was Wilson’s response.

 

“ _Watch your damn back, Stevie._ ” Two more shots, two more corpses.

 

“Aw come on Sarge. Leave some of them for the rest of us.” Bucky didn’t even bother to answer Clint.

 

“It’s what he does,” Steve said, and then flung his shield, the force of his throw taking down three of the bastards who were threatening to start killing the hostages.

 

Bucky didn’t respond, didn’t bother to answer any of them. The tide had turned, the battle slowing, and it looked as if the situation was rapidly becoming contained. Bucky took a few seconds to reload all of his weapons, and then did another survey of the ground. Because in spite of it all, in spite of the bodies and the bloodshed, it felt too easy. He lifted slightly from his crouch, moving to the other side of the building, and studied the streets. They were mostly deserted by now, all the civilians that could have, having already evacuated the area. Then something caught his eye.

 

There, two blocks over, a non-descript moving van, with the name Howie’s Happy Movers, was parked on a side street, its back door open, two men wearing grey jumpsuits standing by its side. Bucky glanced back over his shoulder at the battle, which was more of a high-school rumble now, and then turned back to the van, pulling out his phone.

 

He did a search, using the algorithms and programs he had downloaded and modified from HYDRA, as well as a few Joey happily developed just for him when asked, and saw that Howie’s Happy Movers did not exist.  Then, using the same programs, he ran a second search, on the address of the building the van was parked in front of, and cursed to himself.

 

Because these bastards had learned their lessons from HYDRA, and had apparently learned them well. The battle they had just been engaged in was nothing more than a decoy, a ruse to shift the Avengers’ focus from what was the real target.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hissed as he shouldered his gear.

 

“What is it Sarge?” Steve’s voice asked.

 

“It’s a distraction, Captain.” Bucky said as he leapt to the next roof. “Primary target’s two blocks west, over on Cordelia.”

 

“ _Shit!_ ” It was Steve’s turn to hiss. “We’re still wrapping it up over here – _stay down you fucker_ – Can you engage?”

 

“Wilson?” Bucky asked as he tore the door away from the rooftop stairwell and began his descent.

 

“He’s our only medic and we’ve got wounded civilians,” Steve told him.

 

“Moving to intercept.”

 

“Sarge, extreme force only as a last resort,” Steve ordered. Bucky chose to ignore that, and forwent the stairs, deciding instead to jump down the stairwell. His landing rattled his shins and knees, but as he was and always had been Steve’s Bucky, he also was and always had been the Asset. And the Asset’s body could take a lot worse. “Be careful Buck,” was the last thing he heard as shook it off and made his way into the street, pulling his automatics from the holsters on his thighs as he went.

 

It was easy, so easy, to engage. This new organization may have studied and adopted HYDRA’s techniques as their own, but HYDRA had always been very good at keeping its secrets. And the Asset, the Winter Soldier, had always been their biggest one.

 

There were eight of them. The two standing guard at the back of the van, the driver, sitting in the front seat who was keeping it running. There was the fool guarding the small non-descript building’s open door, who was actually stupid enough to try shooting his arm. Bucky deflected the bullet with his left hand and then fired with his right, and he was down. Then there were the four who finally emerged from the darkened doorway, carrying something that looked to be modified refrigeration capsules of some sort on a pallet, who paused for only a second when they saw him standing there, before lifting their own guns to fire.

 

It was like shooting fish in a barrel. He killed two, and then remembering Steve’s words, blew out the kneecap of one, and the shoulder joint of the other. Crippling and painful, but not fatal shots.

 

And then he cocked his head, let his senses expand, and listened. In the distance, he could hear the last sounds of the first half of the battle drawing to a close, but around him there was nothing, no one. Not even a cat’s heartbeat to interrupt the silence.

 

Until suddenly, behind him, there was a whooshing noise cutting through the night. Bucky pivoted on his heel, his guns raised, and came face to face with the red and gold mask of Tony Stark, in his Iron Man suit.

 

He glanced around, just once, until he turned the two glowing slits where his eyes should have been back in Bucky’s direction, and stood there, perfectly still, staring.

 

Bucky lowered his guns, and remained motionless, letting him look.

 

And this, this was another crossroads, another choice to be made. Because HYDRA, the Asset, _he_ , had killed this man’s parents, and taken Tony’s choices away from him. A victim, this man was one of his victims, one of the few left standing, and there was nothing Bucky could do that would, could ever change that.

 

Bucky had a life now, and a family, and a beautiful home. And he had a lover that he worshipped and adored, and would forever be indebted to; because none of it, none of this life that Bucky loved and cherished and was so fucking grateful for, would have been possible if not for Steve.

 

But Tony didn’t have a Steve. And he no longer had any parents because of what Bucky had done. So it was time for Bucky to make another choice.

 

“Anthony Edward Stark,” he said softly, taking a step forward. “On December 16th, 1991, I took something from you that was not mine to take.” Another step forward. “I killed your parents. And I am so sorry for that. If I could go back in time and undo it, I would.” Bucky shook his head. Because this, this regret was not new to him. But the depth of it was. Eldritch and endless, and no matter how many walls Steve painted, or kisses he pressed to the back of Bucky’s neck would be enough to ever make it go away. “But I can’t.” Another pause, and then a shake of his head.

 

“But what I can do, Tony Stark, is offer you recompense.” At those words, the suit jerked, and Bucky was looking at the face and into the cold, brown eyes of the man whose parents he had killed. He hoped that in his eyes Tony Stark could see all the remorse and regret he felt for what he had done. And also, if nothing else, the pain that he too understood.

 

So he stood there, his shoulders back, staring into Tony Stark’s eyes. And then he made his choice, dropped to his knees, resting his guns on the ground by his side, and bowed his head.

 

“I am so sorry for what I did to you, to them, Tony Stark. I can’t bring them back. I would, if I could. But I can’t. Instead, in exchange, I offer you my life for theirs.” Bucky closed his eyes and waited.

 

One second.

 

Two seconds.

 

Five seconds.

 

Ten.

 

Then Tony Stark made his choice, lifted his hand…

 

And fired.


	31. Destruction

The searing scald of blistering skin.

 

The sharp crack of bones breaking.

 

The stinging whip of air on his cheeks.

 

The abrupt, breath stealing force of impact.

 

Veins and arteries bursting, organs rupturing and the crack of even more bones.

 

Falling, falling, falling, a disjoined mound of flesh and calcium, tissue and sinew, until with a final, heart juddering thud, it was over, and he was on the ground, struggling to push himself to his hands and knees.

 

Except for the pain.

 

Excruciating, agonizing, never ending pain that increased with his every fractured gasp, as he knelt there and tried to hold onto himself. But…

 

But…

 

( _And here was another horrible, horrible truth, an imprint on his body that no amount of kisses or smiles from a beloved face first thing in the morning could ever erase…_ )

 

It was by far from the worse he had ever felt.

 

As Bucky knelt there, trying to breathe, to keep still, while his body shrieked and pulsed at him, he made a new discovery. Or recovered yet another memory, as a buried component of his programming emerged and a sub-routine in his brain began a self-diagnostic, analyzing and cataloging every one of his body’s injuries. He would have marveled at it, at this forgotten remnant from his time with HYDRA, if not for the endless, endless pain.

 

And not the shout, but all-consuming roar, that made even his pain seem weak and trivial, and the clang of metal on metal he could hear from less than twenty feet away.

 

Suddenly there were hands on his shoulders, and a “идиот,” close, too close, to his ear. But they didn’t hurt, or kick, or strike him for his failure. They were…gentle, soft, careful as they held him, trying to help him straighten. Steady and sure of themselves, but implacable as they kept him from moving any further.

 

Bucky looked at the pale skin of their long, thin fingers, and elegantly manicured nails, and recognized them.

 

The Widow’s hands.

 

Then he blinked again, and the roar that had not stopped, but only grown louder, even louder than the sound of metal collapsing in on itself while another voice roared back, resolved itself into…

 

Into…

 

“I’m okay Stevie,” he was barely able to wheeze around a mouthful of blood that fell from his lips and splattered to the ground, a crimson starfish of contrition and pain. “I’m okay.” Another gasp, another mouthful of blood on the street. “Stevie… _Stop_.”

 

There was a second whoosh in the night, and Bucky had a fleeting instant to wonder if Tony Stark was going to take his final shot, before there were another set of hands on his shoulders, darker than the first set, but just as gentle, carefully guiding him to lie on his back. And then Bucky was looking into the goggled face of Wilson as he peered down at him in concern.

 

“Wilson,” he whispered, reaching up with a shaking hand to grab at the strapping on Wilson’s shoulder. “Make him stop.”

 

Because he had seen, when they had laid him on his back, both sets of hands knowing and kind, an image he had never wanted to see. An image now forever imprinted on his mind, that he would never, ever forget, no matter how many times HYDRA would wipe him.

 

Of Captain America, Steven Grant Rogers, Steve, his _Stevie,_ standing in the street, his body a burning pyre of rage and fury, that blazed with the force of a million suns, endless, endless fire, too bright for any shadow to escape. And he was calling down a reckoning.

 

On Tony Stark.

 

The man himself lay on the concrete, his face bloodied and bruised, staring up at Steve in shock, the arc reactor at the heart of his suit a cracked nebula beneath the edge of Steve’s shield.

 

“He’s down, Cap.” Another voice, _Clint’s,_ Bucky thought, trying to see through the blinding flashes of pain that obscured his vision. He would doubt it later, question his recollections of this night, only to have it confirmed by first Wilson, then Steve, and ultimately Clint himself, but he could have sworn that Clint had drawn an arrow, and was aiming it with a deadly precision not at Steve, but Tony. “I’ll make sure he stays that way.”

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Tony snarled, his voice filled with its own rages and furies. But it was pale, so pale, to what had been the roar of Steve’s. “He killed my parents. He admitted it.”

 

“And then he apologized for it. And you still shot him anyway.” Clint’s voice again.

 

 _Oh fuck_ , was all Bucky could think. Because in that moment, in his regret and desperation for absolution of some sort, he had forgotten about his ear wig, and the fact that he had been patched into their communications relay. “You heard that?”

 

“Yeah, Bucky. We all did,” Wilson said as he pressed his hands to Bucky’s chest, palpating and trying to asses for wounds, but avoiding the central area, right above Bucky’s sternum. He was being careful, but each touch made Bucky’s heart judder and shake. Or maybe that was his entire body. “I’ve never seen Cap take off so fast once he heard what was going on.”

 

“Oh fuck,” Bucky did say it this time.

 

“Hmmm,” was all Wilson said coolly, but the look in his eyes was far from a match to the tone in his voice.

 

“When I got here, he was on his knees, his guns on the ground, head down.” Because she was The Widow, and she always had to make things worse. Even Wilson ended up hissing at her words.

 

“ _What?_ ”

 

It was first word Steve had spoken since he arrived that Bucky could understand. Bucky thought that not even Thor would have been able to call down a storm strong enough to dispel all of the thunder in Steve’s voice. And he was turning back to Tony.

 

_“And. You. Shot. Him. Anyway."_

 

“I’m okay, Stevie,” Bucky tried again. It would probably have been more successful if his entire body hadn’t convulsed with the words, needing to roll on his side so that he wouldn’t choke on his own blood.

 

It wasn’t true, no. Far from it. But the serum was doing its work, and he had been created to be indestructible. And the sub-routine, still running in the back of his mind, was analyzing, prioritizing, providing him an endless litany of information that in the past he would have repeated to his handlers. Severe wounds, _yes_. Incapacitating, _only temporarily_. Modifications needed, _not at this time_. Functionality, _limited_. Full functionality, _within a reasonable timeframe_.

 

“Steve!” Wilson must have seen what Bucky could tell from the sound of Steve’s voice. “Bucky’s down. We have to get him to a hospital. We need you over here.”

 

“No hospitals,” Bucky croaked around yet another mouthful of blood. And fuck, he was so sick of the taste of his own blood. He’d had enough of it, more than enough of it, over the past seventy-five years.

 

But that worked like nothing else to call Steve back, and he was suddenly looming over the three of them, staring down with eyes that were wide, the emotions in their depths unknowable even to Bucky after all this time.

 

“Steve, this is beyond what I can do for him here. He needs medical attention,” Wilson said.

 

“No hospitals,” Bucky managed to rasp out again. “’m fine. Serum doing its work.”

 

But The Widow wasn’t done with him yet. Hearing his words, she leaned back on her heels, cocked her head, and said in a perfect tone that would have sent him scrambling into the night if he had the strength, “Otyet, Soldat.”

 

If he had been stronger, if his bones were not burning, his skin blistering, his organs trying to rebuild themselves from within, he would have been able to resist that command. But as weak and in as much pain as he was, her words pulled the order from his throat against his will.

 

“Current status, compromised. Second and third degree burns to both right and left hypochondriac quadrants of the anterior area. Sternum, fractured. Ribs two, three and four on right anterior side fractured. Dislocation of ribs five and six on posterior cavity. Hairline fracture, right scapula. Right lung punctured, breathing and oxygenation compromised but not critical. Right and left kidneys bruised. Spleen ruptured. Minor fracturing to T8 and T9. Left arm, fully functional, no damage sustained. Pain levels within acceptable thresholds. Estimated recovery time to partial mobility, twenty hours. Estimated recovery time to mission functionality, thirty hours. Estimated recovery time to one hundred percent functionality, ten to twelve days. Estimated recovery time to one hundred percent functionality if put in cryo-stasis, less than twenty four hours.”

 

Bucky did not, could not, understand the silence that followed his words. Only that it was thick, and stilted, and as heavy as the air he had to struggle for with each breath he took.

 

“Jesus fucking Christ, what did they do to him?” It was Clint who broke it, his voice as sharp as the arrow’s tip still perfectly aimed at Tony’s body on the ground.

 

If he could have, Bucky would have laughed. _You have no idea. Seventy-five years of it. Seventy-five fucking years of it, and you have no fucking idea._

 

“No Bucky, we don’t,” Wilson said, soft and concerned, and was that regret? But it was Steve’s eyes that held Bucky trapped in their gaze.

 

_Oh, did he say that out loud?_

 

“Yeah Bucky, you did,” Steve whispered. And his eyes, which had been the vortex from which stars and planets and all of the universe’s mysteries were born, were suddenly wet. _Wet. Wet? Why were they wet? They were the prettiest blue eyes in the world. And he could stare at them forever, because they were so beautiful..._

 

“Steve, we need to get him out of here. The cops and the Feds are arriving on scene, and if they see him, they’re going to want to bring him in,” Wilson was saying. “Maria and Wanda are holding them off for now, but we don’t have much time.”

 

“And you’re going to let them do their jobs!” Tony hissed from where he was still laying on the ground.

 

“Put him in the back of the van, and let’s get him back to Brooklyn. You heard him, Steven. He’s hurt, but he’ll heal.” The Widow was rising to her feet, moving out of Bucky’s line of sight. “You and Sam ride in the back. I’ll drop you off and then drive the van back here. One of us will pick up your bike and make sure it gets back to you.”

 

“Oh hell no!” Tony went on. “You are going to stay here and let the cops take him in. He needs to be put in jail and punished for all his crimes.”

 

“Shut up Tony!” _And oh look, how cute. Steve could actually growl. He kinda sounded like Meatball when he did._

 

“Please tell me somebody’s recording this.”

 

“Not now Clint,” Wilson interrupted just as Steve said, “We need to get him out of here.”

 

“No, you’re not going to choose him over us. Because it’s _us_ , Steve, and you are not going to make that choice. Because that’s not the kind of man you are.” Tony volleyed, and even Bucky could hear the anger in his voice.

 

But it was soon forgotten, a fading whisper of a desperate man, that could not, would not, ever be able to stand up to Steven Grant Rogers. The man, who out of all others, had been chosen personally by Dr. Erskine to receive his serum. The man who had disobeyed orders and rescued an entire convoy of trapped men, because it was the right thing to do. The man who had led a team of soldiers to victory after victory, who would have died for him, because he always stood by his promises. The man who plunged himself headfirst into battle after battle, against insurmountable odds, not out of a desire for fame or glory or recognition, but simply because it was the right thing to do. The man for whom Bucky had crawled his way back from the dead for, simply because he had called his name, and Bucky had always, would always, come when his Stevie called him.

 

_A man who was probably going to be furious with him when all this was over, but well, how much worse could it get than tonight._

 

“No, Tony, it’s not. I’m the kind of man who believes in second chances. I’m the kind of man who believes in redemption. And I’m the kind of man who still, to this day, fucking hates bullies.” It was the forests of Steve’s truths, all of his roots and the trees that had grown from his soils, because Steve was, and had always been, even when his body was small and weak, something so great and beyond what was familiar to them, that very few people could even begin to grasp what it was about him that made him such a beacon for everyone else. “What I am not, is the kind of man who would shoot someone who is unarmed and on their knees, after apologizing for something that was not their fault. And if you can’t see the difference, then I am also not the kind of man who would call you his friend.”

 

Then Steve turned around, and rejoined Wilson from where he had remained kneeling by Bucky’s side.

 

“And James Buchanan Barnes, after the shit you just pulled, it’s going to get a hell of a lot worse. Count on it.”

 

Bucky would have rolled his eyes at him, but at that exact moment, in a coordinated move he had not even been aware of, both Steve and Wilson lifted him onto a stretcher someone had found or cobbled together from somewhere. There was another wave of unbearable agony, and his body, in a final act of mercy, decided it had had enough, and he passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sneakily posts chapter and then sneakily sneaks away**


	32. Among the Ruins

His internal chronometer was off, and Bucky had no idea how long he had been sleeping, but when he finally opened his eyes, he was in a room that was warm and clean, with golden yellow walls, white trim, staring up at a mural that was the seascape of his life. He was in a soft bed, softer than any he could ever remember sleeping in before, and never what he awoke to after being put in cryo to heal, covered in blankets that smelled of soap and vanilla and sunshine. It took him a few blinks to remember why this was strange, why it was wrong, before he was trying to sit up, reaching for a gun that should have been there, but wasn’t. And then none of it, absolutely none of it mattered, because the pain hit, an entire full-body throb of it, that would have had him begging for mercy, if he could just get enough air into his lungs.

 

“Well, that was a stupid thing to do now, wasn’t it?” A coolly detached voice said from somewhere on his right. Bucky was able to turn just enough to see Steve sitting on a chair that had been placed by the bed, staring at him with flat, cold eyes. “But then again, after yesterday, I’m not surprised.”

 

Bucky swallowed, his throat as dry as the sands of the Sahara, and coated with just as much dust.

 

“What happened?” he somehow managed to rasp. Steve calmly reached out for a bottle on the bedside table. He twisted it open and leaned over, holding the edge to Bucky’s lips, until Bucky heeded the silent command in his eyes and took a few, small sips.

 

“What happened?” Steve repeated as he sat back, boring into Bucky with that unreadable gaze. “Are you asking about before or after you passed out, when you proved to the world that it was possible to make even my heart stop?” Even with the water he had sipped, Bucky’s mouth was too dry to form any words. “What? No snappy come back? You’re not going to call me a dumbass while you roll your eyes at me?” Steve’s voice retained all of its cool detachment, not a single shift or variation in its tone as he continued to stare at Bucky. And Bucky knew that this, whatever this was, was going to be bad, more painful than anything he had endured…However long ago it had been.

 

“What happened, James,” Steve went on when Bucky didn’t answer him, “is that we got you home and up into bed. Then I had to go next door and beg Senora Lopez’s daughter, Teresa, who’s a nurse by the way, to come and have a look at you. Suffice it to say, she was not happy when we told her that we couldn’t take you to the hospital. She examined you as best she could, given the circumstances, and then shot you up with enough painkillers to take down an elephant, because the burns on your chest were so bad me and Sam had to slice off pieces of your skin because your tac vest had melted into your flesh and you were already starting to heal around it. Then she had to inject you with even more painkillers, because you were starting to come around, and we wanted to make sure you didn’t try to move. Then we wrapped you up, and I had to beg her to promise not to tell anyone what she had seen. She left with another warning about getting you to the hospital, and then Sam sat with you while I went into the bathroom and puked my guts out, and then took a shower because I had to wash your blood off my hands. Sam left, and then I came back in here, and have been sitting with you for the past eighteen hours, making sure your heart didn’t stop. So, you know, not a good night.”

 

“Steve I’m –“

 

“According to Teresa, she gave you enough meds to knock you out for at least twenty-four hours,” Steve cut him off. “But like I said, it’s been about eighteen. According to your status report to Natasha, you shouldn’t be able to walk yet. So I’m going to ask you, do you have to take a piss?”

 

Bucky closed his eyes and did a silent assessment of his body. And oh god, did he hurt. But the pain was different now, and he was tempted to ask Steve if this was what it was like for him. Because the healing could be worse than the actual injuries themselves. The burn of bones re-growing, fusing themselves together, cells and fascia pulling on already over-sensitized nerves as his flesh reknit itself. The twisting, sharp sting of churning organs as they rebuilt and restructured themselves in order to perform the functions they were meant to. And how being put into cryo was almost a mercy, because it meant he didn’t to be aware of any of it. It was too fast, too unnatural for what a human body was able to withstand, and now he would be awake for every single excruciating second of it while the serum forced his body to its baseline and then beyond.

 

And even worse, now that Steve had asked, Bucky realized that on-top of all of that, he did indeed need to piss. Their bathroom had never seemed so far away.

 

“I do, but I can manage,” he lied. He would crawl on his hands and knees if he had to, because the way Steve was looking at him, he doubted he would offer any help.

 

“Uh-huh,” was all Steve said, before he was bending over and coming back with a plastic jug in his hand. “I’m going to hold this while you piss in here, because I have to check your urine for blood to make sure your kidneys are still working.”

 

“Steve, that’s not –“

 

“And then, once I’ve done that, you’re going to stay here and not move from that fucking bed while I go downstairs and get you something to eat. After that, you’re going to take the painkillers Natasha was kind enough to get from Bruce and drop off this morning, strong enough for even us, and go back to sleep. Hopefully you’ll sleep for another eight hours, and by the time you wake up, I won’t want to finish the job Tony started yesterday and strangle you myself.” Steve voice never shifted, never deviated from its indifferent flat-line as he spoke. And Bucky, his body wracked in its agony of healing, his mind fuzzy from the pain, could not even begin to try to translate all the things Steve wasn’t saying. It was a strange position to find himself in, because even at his worst, he had always been able to read Steve as easily as an open book. And how could he help Steve, take away his pain, shield and protect him as he always had, if the language they always shared was suddenly foreign to him.

 

It was another discomfort, on top of the hundreds he was already feeling, that weighed on bones  too weak to stand. So much so that he was grateful, forty-five of the most uncomfortable minutes of his life later, when the two pills he had swallowed kicked in, and he fell back into the darkened, dreamless shelter of sleep.

 

***

 

The second time he opened his eyes, it was dark outside, the room dimly lit. His body still hurt, everything hurt, but at least he was no longer alone in the bed. It wasn’t Steve, but as the fog slowly lifted from his mind, he was able to recognize the vibrations and four, distinct purring cadences of their cats, feel the warmth of them pressed up against his sides. It wasn’t Steve, but at least it was something.

 

He did another assessment of his body, better, but not by much, and was able to tell that more than twenty hours had passed, because if he needed to, he would be able to get up. He moved his right hand, which was weak, so weak, but at least it wasn’t shaking, and lifted the sheet covering him to stare down at the bandages on his chest. Clean, white and blood free, which meant the bleeding had stopped and his skin had sealed itself over.

 

“If you touch those dressings, I will break every finger in your right hand.” Steve’s voice again, just as flat, just as cold as it had been earlier. Bucky turned his head to see Steve sitting in the same chair as before, his body held in the exact same position. Bucky thought he might have changed his clothes, but he couldn’t be sure. He let his hand drop.

 

“Steve –“ There were so many things Bucky wanted to say to him.

 

_I had to do it. I needed to let him have his chance. It was only fair and I had to do what was right._

 

And...

 

_I’m okay Stevie, it’s all right, I’m going to be fine._

And…

 

_Don’t you think I know what this is like? Don’t you think I spent hours sitting by your bed when we were kids and you got sick, because I was worried you were never going to open your eyes again. I spent hours with you Stevie, holding your hand when you could barely breathe, hoping it would be enough. Won’t you please hold my hand now?_

 

And, and, and…

 

_I am so sorry Stevie. So, so sorry. Please forgive me. Please just smile at me again. Please. Please. Please._

 

But Steve never gave him a chance, once again cutting off Bucky’s words before he had a chance to speak them.

 

“Don’t James, just don’t.”

 

So Bucky swallowed them down, swallowed them all down, closed his eyes, and merely nodded instead, his heart as broken as all of his bones.

 

***

 

It went on like that for two more days. Two more days of brief periods of consciousness, during which Steve fed him, forced him to piss in the jug he always had ready by the bedside, and insisted Bucky take the painkillers Steve practically shoved down his throat, intermixed with long hours of a deep and dreamless healing sleep. If he were being honest, Bucky preferred the darkness. It never seemed to last long enough, but it was easier, so much easier, than the times when he was awake.

 

Because Steve attended to him, ensuring his needs were met, except for the biggest and most important one; comfort. Steve made sure he ate, that his dressings were clean, and his body got all of the hydration it needed. But not once, during all of that time, did he smile at Bucky, or run his fingers through his hair, or press a kiss to his lips or even his forehead. He was furious with Bucky, a glacier of icy rage surrounding his heart, as impenetrable as if Steve had never been pulled from the artic, and the who of him, the shine that had always lit up all of Bucky’s world, still there, still sleeping, no longer waiting but refusing to be found.

 

It was excruciating.

 

Until two and a half days later, when Bucky’s body finally reached all of the necessary baselines needed to function, and he refused the painkillers Steve tried to force on him, and then insisted on making his way unaided to the bathroom to brush his teeth and take his own damned piss.

 

“Oh yeah, that was the right decision to make,” Steve said from where he’d been leaning against the wall for the past seven minutes, his arms crossed as he watched Bucky make his way to their bathroom. “But then again, as recent events have demonstrated, your judgement has never been that great.”

 

“What can I say?” Bucky hissed, _(exhausted, exhausted, exhausted and still in so much pain)_. “You have a crappy bedside manner.”

 

Steve straightened his stance and uncrossed his arms, his eyes narrowing. It was the first sign of emotion, any emotion, Bucky had seen on his face in far too long.

 

“You don’t want my help?” he snapped. “Fine then. Do it on your own. Just make sure you don’t get any piss on the toilet seat. I’m tired of cleaning up all your damned messes.” And then he turned around, and without a backward glance, stormed down the stairs.

 

Bucky sighed, and then leaned against the wall to catch his breath, thankful Steve wasn’t there to witness it.

 

It was one of the best, if slowest, pisses in his life. When he was done, he washed his hands, brushed his teeth, and then looked at his face in the mirror. Even he had to admit, he had seen better days. His hair was limp and greasy, his eyes sunken and his cheeks gaunt, his complexion a pale grey. His left arm felt like it weighed a thousand pounds as it pulled on bones just barely healed, and muscles that were too weak to do much more than lift his toothbrush. He tugged the dressing from his chest to stare at skin so thin he could practically see through it, covering a burn that, if not for what the serum was doing, would continue to do, would have left a horrible scar. It itched and it burned and it hurt even to breathe on it, but it had sealed over itself. And Bucky now had enough understanding of how his body worked to know that time and food would allow for the process to complete itself.

 

And speaking of food, he was _starving_.

 

He debated trying to make it down the stairs, and decided that while he was mobile, he wasn’t  strong enough to attempt making it to their kitchen. With the way Steve was acting, he would probably push him down the stairs if he even tried. Instead he slowly headed back to the bedroom, where he knew he still had at least three boxes of Thin Mint cookies left in his last stash, and a couple of chocolate, protein and granola bars in his nightstand drawer. They weren’t ideal, and Bucky really hated the idea of eating the last of those cookies, but for now they would have to do.

 

***

 

“How long before you decide you’re going to speak to me again?” Bucky asked on the morning of the third day, when enough of his strength had returned and he’d been able to gather the courage to finally begin the conversation they needed to have.

 

Because Steve was in pain, and no matter how Bucky felt at the moment, that could simply _not be borne._

 

The sugar, carbs and protein had helped, as had his last ten hours of uninterrupted sleep. When he woke, he was finally strong enough to take a shower, which had probably not been the best idea from the way the water had scalded his over-sensitized skin. But it still felt good to finally get clean, and his mind, if not so much his body, had needed it. Afterward, he felt well enough to finally make his way slowly down the stairs, and into the kitchen, where he drank an entire potful of coffee and nearly gorged himself on whatever he could find in their refrigerator that didn’t need to be heated. The food helped even more, until he finally felt as though he had enough resources to face Steve, and the endless barb-wire filled trench that now lay between them.

 

Steve turned around from the empty canvas he had been sitting in front of, until his eyes, still flat, still cold, met Bucky’s own.

 

“That depends, James,” he answered in that horrible voice he’d been speaking in for the past three days.

 

“On?”

 

“On how many more times I have to watch you die.”

 

And there was the gauntlet, the slap to Bucky’s face, Steve issuing his challenge.

 

“I had to do it Steve.” It was a truth; undeniable. But unlike so many other truths, this one would set neither of them free.

 

“Oh did you now?”

 

“Yes Steve, I did.”

 

“Well,” Steve said, and then for the first time ever, he actually sneered at Bucky, the lines of his face transforming into something harsh and brutal in the light that poured in through the studio’s windows. “I never thought you were a coward, James Buchanan Barnes. But I guess you can learn something new every day.”

 

Bucky closed his eyes and shook his head. So it was going to be like that then. All of the battles they had fought, sometimes with and sometimes against each other, and this was going to be the most brutal one of all. He wondered which one out of the two of them would be left standing.

 

“It was a choice Steve. It may not be one you agree with, but it was still a choice I had to make.”

 

“No, it wasn’t.” Steve may have been the stronger out of the two of them, had always been the stronger one, but he was not, had never been a brawler. He could take a punch and throw it back even harder, but he didn’t fight dirty. Nasty had never been a part of his repertoire, never one of the shields he needed to use. That had always been Bucky’s specialty. And even as weakened as he was, Bucky knew he could take hit after hit, while it was already starting to cost Steve.

 

“Yes, it was,” Bucky countered.

 

“So you made the decision that the last time I ever got to hear you voice was while you were on your knees in front of Tony Stark, telling him it was okay for him to kill you in cold blood?” And maybe Bucky was wrong, maybe there were bits and pieces to Steve that were just as nasty and vicious as Bucky’s.

 

“I didn’t mean for you to hear that.” Bucky shook his head.

 

“But the rest of it, that you did mean?” Steve pressed.

 

“Yes.”

 

“ _Why?_ ” With that question, Steve snapped. He rose from his seat and roared, swiping out with his arm to smash through the easel and canvas, sending it crashing to the other side of the room, where it shattered against the wall. “Why would you dying be okay? Why was that the right choice to make?”

 

His eyes were wide and wild, his chest heaving as he stormed across the room towards Bucky. And Bucky had a fleeting thought, there and gone, that Steve would have never made a good Asset, that HYDRA would never have been able to break Steve like they had broken Bucky. Because where Bucky knew how to lie and hide and find shadows to bury himself within, Steve was all fires and truths and the endless vibrations of everything he was and everything he would ever be.

 

They were each other’s Yin and Yang. Had always been. One side bright, one side dark, but, Bucky also realized in just that second, always equally matched. Bucky was the jaguar in the night who could make himself disappear, find shelter, and keep himself safe. Steve would never bend, never yield, always facing the world head on. Steve burned with the truths of himself. But Bucky knew how to find shadows and comfort in the night, and how to take those shadows and stillness to ease and soothe and gentle any burns.

 

The story of their lives, even all this time later.

 

“Because I took something from him Steve,” Bucky answered calmly. “Something that wasn’t mine to take. And if nothing else, for my own peace of mind, I needed to give him the chance to take it back.”

 

“You tried to give him something that wasn’t yours to give.” They were inches from each other now, fire and ice, night and day, and this time, for the first time ever, it was Steve who broke first, the slate of indifference that he had been using to shield himself shattering right before Bucky’s eyes. “Why would you do that? Why would you do something like that to _me?_ It’s mine. _You’re mine!_ And I’m never going to let you go. You got that Bucky? You hear me?”

 

“Oh Stevie,” Bucky whispered, ignoring the pain to reach out and pull Steve into his arms.

 

“Is it not enough? Am I not enough? Because I would do anything for you Bucky, _anything._ But you can’t leave me like that again. Because I can’t Bucky. Once was more than enough, and I wouldn’t – I wouldn’t…” Steve was struggling, trying to pull away, trying to pull free. But it was Bucky’s turn now, to be the one who held on and didn’t let go.

 

“You didn’t even scream when he shot you. You didn’t make a single sound, and you were just lying there on the floor when I got there, and I thought you were dead. And I was going to kill him, going to murder him with my own hands. But then you said my name, and I knew you were alive, but I was still going to kill him, because he hurt you, and nobody gets to hurt you like that Bucky, _nobody_.”

 

“Now you know how I feel about you,” Bucky whispered into his hair.

 

“I’ve always known Bucky, always.” Steve had finally stopped struggling, and his arms, his big, strong arms, were wrapping themselves around Bucky’s chest, pulling him in so tight Bucky thought Steve was going to re-break his ribs. But that was a pain to be ignored whenever Steve needed him. And Stevie needed him now.

 

“I’m sorry Stevie. I am so so sorry.”

 

“Promise me, swear to me Bucky, never again. Swear to me that you’ll stay with me. That you will never threaten to leave me like that ever again. _Promise me!_ ” Steve demanded, the clench of his hands adding more bruises to the ones already on Bucky’s back. But it was an easy pain to bear. Just like it was an easy promise to make.

 

Bucky pried himself out of the impossible clench of Steve’s arms, but only so that he could take Steve’s face into his hands and lift his head to stare into his eyes, and wipe at the tears on his cheeks with his thumbs.

 

“Steven Grant Rogers, I swear to you that I will never, ever leave you,” Bucky pledged, the greatest, and easiest promise he had ever made in his life. “I am with you, until the end of the line. The very end. And if I go, it’s only because I’m following you. Because without you, there’s no me.”

 

Let that truth lie between them then.

 

From the cradle of Bucky’s palms, Steve stared at him, the beautiful storm blue of his eyes shimmering behind his tears. It was a moment, an eternity, that they shared on that bright October morning. And it was not enough, it would never be enough. But it was them.

 

Then Steve lifted his hands, wrapped his fingers arounds Bucky’s wrists, and pressed his forehead to Bucky’s.

 

“Same,” was all he said.

 

Then they were falling, tumbling to floor, Steve curling himself around Bucky so he could be cradled against his body, while he sobbed and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.

 

***

 

Just because it was over didn’t mean that it was over.

 

As they sat there on the floor, Steve still sobbing as he curled around Bucky, and the seconds slipped into minutes slipped into an unknowable amount of time, Bucky remembered the words Wilson had shared with them what seemed like an eternity ago. About wounds being lanced, and giving them enough time to let the puss drain. This wound was a deep one, but hopefully they had lanced it before too much of an infection had set in. That didn’t mean it still didn’t need time to heal.

 

So he sat there, with his arms around Steve, his own body a wound shrieking at him in pain, and held. He had been the one to make this cut, so it was his responsibility to ensure it healed.

 

“What would make it better Stevie?” he asked the question Steve had so often asked him. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll make sure you get it.” Steve just shook his head, and tightened him arms even further. Bucky stared down at the mop of messy blond hair pressed against his abdomen and was struck with an idea. Lifting his left hand ( _and oh god, that still hurt_ ) he ran his fingers through Steve’s golden locks and tried to soothe him with his touch, before he asked,

 

“Do you need to run?”

 

From the way Steve suddenly froze, Bucky knew Steve understood exactly what he was offering.

 

“Does it really help?” Steve finally spoke.

 

“It helps me,” Bucky told him. “I haven’t needed to do it in a long time, but it does help. And if you need to, then we’ll go.”

 

Steve was silent for a long time, perfectly still in Bucky’s lap, until he sighed. “Maybe. But not right now. But maybe in a little bit.”

 

“’Kay. Whenever you’re ready, we’ll go.” It was as simple as that.

 

“If I ask you something, and in English instead of Russian, will you give me an honest answer?” Steve asked a few minutes later, once he had gathered himself together enough to let go of Bucky and sit back on the floor. Bucky already knew what he was going to ask, but he nodded anyway. “How are you feeling? Really?”

 

Bucky sighed. “I didn’t even know that programming was in there.”

 

“Bucky.”

 

Bucky sighed again and closed his eyes. “Do you want a status report, or just the truth?”

 

“ _Bucky._ ”

 

“I feel like shit Stevie,” he admitted honestly. And then, because Steve had asked…

 

“Current status, still compromised but improving. Burns on both right and left hypochondriac quadrants of the anterior area at Stage Three of healing. Sternum, fractured, but osteoblasts engaged. Fractures to ribs two, three and four on right anterior side sealed. Ribs five and six on posterior cavity reset to original position. Hairline fracture, right scapula, osteoblasts engaged and healing. Right lung sealed, breathing and oxygenation compromised but functioning at eighty-five percent capacity. Right and left kidneys no longer bruised, functioning at eighty-two percent functionality. Spleen no longer ruptured, functioning at sixty-five percent capacity.  Osteoblasts engaged to seal fractures in T8 and T9. Left arm, remains fully functional, decreased mobility due to damage to adjacent musculature. Pain levels improved, within acceptable thresholds. Partial mobility, achieved. Estimated recovery time to mission functionality, achieved to within acceptable levels. Estimated recovery time to one hundred percent functionality, nine days. Estimated recovery time to one hundred percent functionality if put in cryo-stasis –” And here Bucky shuddered to a stop, no longer able to go on.

 

“ _That’s enough_.”

 

“Sorry.” And then it was Bucky’s turn to slump over. “Oh god, I fucking hate that.”

 

“You’re not the only one,” Steve agreed. “But at least you were honest.”

 

“Silver fucking lining.” When he looked up, Steve was staring at him. There were still storms in his eyes, but Bucky thought those were better than the flatness from before.

 

“So, if I agree to hold off for a few days on needing to run, will you let me help you to the kitchen, get you something to eat, and then take a goddamned pain pill and go back to sleep?”

 

“Steve, I would kiss you for a pain pill right now,” Bucky exhaled.

 

“Yeah well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Because I am still so fucking furious at you right now, I may end up beating you to death myself.” Steve rose to his feet and held a hand out to Bucky, his eyebrow arched in challenge. As if Bucky was stupid enough to refuse. “Now c’mon. Let’s get some food into you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in response to the last chapters there were so many comments, filled with discussions, curses and hell, even name calling. And I just gotta say, and I mean this with ALL OF MY HEART...
> 
> You all are the ABSOLUTE BEST, and I adore each and everyone one of you. 
> 
> Seriously. Each and every one of you.
> 
> <3 <3 <3


	33. Late Night Conversations

Bucky was sitting in the kitchen, making his way through a huge second serving of baked ziti, when there was a relentless knocking at the door. Steve had gone back upstairs to retrieve the meds, and Bucky just wanted the goddamned noise to stop, so he pulled himself to his feet and slowly limped his way over to the door.

 

Except he should have run a diagnostic on his brain. Either that or his judgement was still cloudy from his previous dosage of the pain pills, because when he opened the door without checking who was there first, he found himself face to face with Clint and Wilson.

 

And then he was looking up at Clint, and _holy shit,_ did he need to remember that archers had powerful arms, because his jaw was throbbing and the spots were back in his vision.

 

“ _You son of a fucking bitch!_ ” Clint hissed from where he loomed over Bucky, his arm cocked back for another strike. “What the hell were you thinking?”

 

“What the hell is going on down here?” Steve asked as he burst into the foyer.

 

“He hit me!”

 

“Yeah, and you fucking deserved it.” Clint stalked even closer. “You goddamned, shit-for-brains, puss-sucking jackass!”

 

“Woah, woah, woah,” Steve tried to intervene, but Wilson stepped forward and held out an arm to block him. And, Bucky couldn’t help but notice, Steve wasn’t trying very hard to get around him.

 

“Let him have his say,” Wilson said.

 

“Do you have any idea what the _hell_ you put all of us through when you pulled that shit, you mother-fucking, douchebag _asshole_!”

 

“Clint, if you’re going to break his jaw at least let me give him his pills first, so he’ll sleep through most of it and we won’t have to listen to him bitch about it.” And okay, maybe there was even more puss they needed to drain from Steve than he originally thought. Because Steve would never lay a hand on him, but apparently he had no problems letting someone else do it instead.

 

“Oh no, I’m not going to break the bastard’s jaw,” Clint said, taking another step forward and bending over so they were face to face. “What was it that you said when you gave us your status report? Estimated recovery time to partial mobility, twenty hours. Estimated recovery time to mission functionality, thirty hours. Well, it’s been thirty-six hours. And we’ve got a new mission.”

 

“We do?” Bucky somehow managed to mumble through the pain radiating up from his jaw and throughout his entire skull.

 

“Yes, we do,” Clint snapped. “Now on your feet, Sergeant. We’re going to go see your mother, and tell her exactly what you did.”

 

“Have fun boys,” Wilson said as he draped an arm over Steve’s shoulder to guide him away. “Now c’mon Steve. You need a break. Why don’t we go for a run?”

 

***

 

“She slapped me.”

 

Steve was surprisingly unsympathetic as he stared at Bucky an hour later as Bucky stood in their kitchen and relayed what had happened.

 

“Oh did she now?” was all he said, after a quick glance at the red hand imprint blooming on Bucky’s right cheek.

 

“Oh hell yeah she did,” Clint cackled from behind him. “And let me tell you, Senora Rodriguez has one hell of a right hook on her.” Clint brushed by Bucky, or more like shoved his way past, as he made his way into the kitchen and began his usual routine of making himself perfectly at home. “And then she told him she wasn’t going to make him his precious chuletas for at least a month, so he would have plenty of time to think about what he did. And let’s not even get into what Jojo said to him. Man that kid can curse.”

 

“Yeah, she can,” Steve agreed easily. “And Dewy?”

 

“Dunno about that one.” Clint poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table, reaching for the sugar bowl. “She was quiet the entire time. We’ll see, I guess.”

 

“Hmm,” Steve hummed, and then jerked his chin at the kitchen counter. “Your pills are over there. Take two now and head on back upstairs. Try to catch some sleep. I’ll come up and check on you in a bit.”

 

Once Bucky swallowed the pills and began the long, slow climb up the stairs, he began to question his choices in life. Because if he was being honest, the cryo-tank was starting to look like a really good option right now.

 

***

 

When Bucky again opened his eyes, he had no idea how long he had been sleeping this time. The Pizzas were once again with him, but the only other thing he did know was that he wasn’t alone in the room. Also, that now his jaw, along with everything else, ached.

 

And that the person sitting by his bedside was not Steve.

 

“Oh god, please don’t hit me with your hammer,” he moaned.

 

“Do I need to, Bucky Barnes?” Thor asked quietly.

 

“Please don’t.” Bucky rubbed the grit from his eyes, shook his head and tried to sit up. “Where’s Steve?”

 

“He went out for dinner with Sam and Clint,” Thor said, and then in a surprising display of gentleness, he reached out with both hands and helped Bucky rest back against the headboard. “As the three of them all looked as if they could use the reprieve, I agreed to watch over you while they were out.”

 

“They told you what happened then?” Bucky asked, gratefully taking the opened bottle of water Thor held out to him.

 

“They did.”

 

Bucky took a sip and then nodded slowly. “Are you going to yell at me too now?”

 

“I did not come here to yell at you Bucky,” Thor said as he sat back in the chair. “I came as soon as I heard because I wanted to determine the truth of the situation for myself before I decided on what course of action to take.” But Bucky knew it was nowhere near as simple as that. And he was proven correct, when a few seconds later, Thor spoke again. “And to ask you a question.”

 

“What question?” And Bucky was suddenly so tired of words and emotions and every single goddamned choice he had ever made in his life.

 

“Why?”

 

“They didn’t tell you that as well?” Bucky tried to deflect.

 

“No, they did,” Thor acknowledged with a nod. “And the reasons given were valid and understandable.” And then Thor tilted his head, and looked at Bucky in such a way that Bucky could not help but remember that he was staring into the face of not a warrior or one of Steve’s fellow Avengers, but a god. “But I am older than most of you humans. And I have spent a lot of time among you, trying to understand what it is that makes you all you. One of the things I have learned during all of my time here is that your reasons for doing things are never as simple as you try to make them seem. So I would have the truth from you, Bucky Barnes, beyond justice and a desire to make amends.”

 

“What? That’s not enough?”

 

Thor merely stared at him, as patient as time. As he sat there, beneath his gaze, Bucky felt the darkest blooms of his heart unfurl, so dark even he hadn’t known they were there.

 

“I didn’t want to die,” he began in a whisper. “I love my life now. And I love Stevie, I’ve always loved him with all of my heart. But Stevie, he’s – he’s so much. He’s always been meant for so much more. And the world needs him, the world will always need him. And I’m just… _Me_. I’ve always been just me. I’m a fucked up former assassin, who’s only ever been good at killing things. And Steve has done so much for me already, don’t think I don’t know that. But the world needs him, the Avengers need him, and he doesn’t need me here holding him back when there’s so much left for him to do. And I didn’t want to die Thor, I swear to you I didn’t. But it was my price to pay, and Steve shouldn’t have to pay it as well. And he will, if we keep doing this. He will make choices he shouldn’t have to, when he deserves so much better than that.”

 

There was nothing but silence between them once Bucky was done speaking. His own words had shocked him; not because of how true they were, but how old. Maybe even older than the god who was sitting by his bedside. And then Thor spoke.

 

“I am jealous of him, you know.”

 

“Who? Stevie?”

 

“Yes, Steven,” Thor nodded, his eyes never leaving Bucky’s face. “I have…Had a brother, you see. Loki. And in many ways, he was a lot like you. He did horrible, horrible things to so many people.” For the first time, Thor looked away. And Bucky knew this, knew about Loki; Clint had told him about what had been done to him, and all at Loki’s hand. But then he realized that this was one of Thor’s truths, and he was sharing it with Bucky. Thor looked back at Bucky and continued, “But unlike you, when he did those things, he had a choice. And he chose to murder thousands of people without a care for the consequences. And this world hated him for it, and they have a right to. But he was my brother, and I loved him. I do not think he ever knew how much, and I will regret that for the rest of my life. Because if he did, if he knew how much me and my family all loved him, perhaps he would have made different choices. You came back to Steven, and he had the opportunity make sure that you knew how much he loved you. I will never get that chance with Loki. So yes, Bucky Barnes, I am very jealous of Steven.”

 

“I’m sorry.” It was the only thing that could be said. Thor acknowledged his words with a nod of his head.

 

“And as for Steven, you are not a burden, not to him. You did not see him when he first returned from the ice. But I did. And the difference is remarkable. It was why I was so curious to meet you. Because you are not his burden. You are what makes his burdens bearable, takes their weight and gives him wings. Remember that Bucky Barnes, the next time you come face to face with Tony Stark, and have a choice to make.”

 

“It’s not that simple,” Bucky whispered, shaking his head. It couldn’t be.

 

“Yes, it is,” Thor said, as if he could read Bucky’s mind. “As someone who has lived a very long time, and knows a few things about this world and a few others, believe me when I tell you will have enough time to discover the truth of that for yourself.”

 

“What?” Bucky asked, something in the Thor’s words pricking at the back of his mind. But Thor just smiled at him for the first time during their entire discussion, and leaned forward.

 

“Anyway, I thank you for your honesty. And I promise you that what was said here tonight will remain between us. Now sleep. The healing is mostly done, but your body still needs its rest. We will see each other again soon.” Then Thor reached out, and pressed the tip of his middle finger to Bucky’s forehead, and as if commanded, Bucky fell asleep.

 

***

 

It was Wilson next.

 

He was sitting at their kitchen table, drinking a cup of coffee and flipping through a magazine when Bucky came in, in search of food a little after three in the morning. When he had woken from whatever Thor had done to him, he felt better and Steve was once again back in his chair. It was a testament to how exhausted Steve must have been, as he didn’t even stir when Bucky carefully climbed out of the bed and decided to heed his body’s demands for sustenance. Bucky was more than happy to allow Steve a chance to rest.

 

As soon as Wilson saw Bucky in the kitchen doorway, all four of the Pizzas circling around his feet, he closed the magazine and sat back in his chair.

 

“We have to stop meeting like this,” he said dryly, and then ran his eyes over the entirety of Bucky’s body. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Better,” Bucky admitted as he made his way to refrigerator. “Still a ways to go yet, but getting there.”

 

“So, not at one hundred percent functionality yet, but according to your estimate, that shouldn’t be for at least another eight days. Although knowing you, you’ll probably try to do something stupid in less than five.”

 

Bucky sighed. “So I guess it’s your turn to yell at me now.”

 

“I’m not going to yell at you Bucky,” Wilson said as he kicked out the chair on the opposite side of the table. “But we are going to have a discussion.”

 

“Can I at least feed the Pizzas and grab a sandwich first?”

 

“Sure, take all the time you need. I can wait.” Wilson was as good as his word, sitting there quietly while Bucky slowly put together a sandwich while boiling water for a cup of peppermint tea. As soon as he sat down, Wilson nodded at the mug. “Good choice.”

 

Bucky just shrugged and picked up his sandwich, waiting for Wilson to begin. It didn’t take him long.

 

“I know you don’t like me Bucky. I don’t know why, and honestly, I don’t care,” he started as soon as Bucky had taken his first bite. “What I do care about right now is Steve, and the shit you keep putting him through.” And suddenly Bucky’s sandwich was a lot less appetizing. He put it down with a sigh and leaned back in his chair.

 

“I never want to hurt Stevie, _ever_. It’s the last thing I ever want to do.”

 

“Then you need to start making better decisions. Or actually take a moment and think about what the repercussions of those decisions are going to be. Because I’m telling you right now, if something happens to you, Steve’s not going to be far behind.” Wilson’s words were brutally honest, and more painful than any punch to the jaw or blast to the chest. “Didn’t consider that, did you?”

 

“Stevie’s stronger than that.”

 

“You would think so, if you didn’t know him well. But you didn’t see the way he way he was after he found out you were alive. He was obsessed with finding you, and nothing any of us said or did was going to stop him. I didn’t understand it back then, didn’t know the real reason for it, but I do now. And I can’t say I’m convinced they’re good ones. The two of you are co-dependent as fuck. You’re Steve’s blind-spot, but then again, he’s yours. The last time we sat in a kitchen like this, you actually threatened to kill me if anything happened to him. And I don’t think that’s changed for you.”

 

“It hasn’t.”

 

“Yeah, I know.” Wilson nodded. “I’ve seen you in action twice now. No one gets within ten feet of him before their brains are being blown out.”

 

“I’m a good shot.”

 

“You are,” Wilson acknowledged. “You even managed to impress Clint, and trust me, that’s no easy feat. But what you need to be even better at is making decisions. Because every time you make one like you did the other day, or you freak out and decide to leave instead of asking for help, it’s like you’ve aimed your rifle and taken one of your perfect shots at Steve’s heart. And I don’t think he can take another one.”

 

“It’s not going to happen again,” Bucky hissed.

 

“Oh really?” Wilson asked. “Why not? Cos I gotta say Bucky, so far your track record’s not been that great.”

 

“Because I promised him.”

 

“Ah,” Wilson nodded. “And from what Steve’s told me, you always keep your promises to him when you make them. So that’s something at least.”

 

“I will never break a promise to him.”

 

“How about this? How about working on your own shit so you never even need to make them?” Wilson pushed his mug of coffee aside and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Because here’s the truth Bucky. You’ve been through a ton of shit that wasn’t your fault. And you ended up doing a lot of horrible things you had no control over, and that weighs heavy on a man’s soul. But what you do have control over is what you do now. You can’t undo all those things from your  past, even if me and Steve both agree that none of them were your fault. But you can start living your life by doing better, admitting that you have more worth than just what you do for Steve. We’ve all made mistakes Bucky, and each one of us has our reasons for doing what we do, but let me tell you right now, getting on your knees in front of a man and giving him permission to kill you is not the right way to go about fixing them.”

 

“I needed to do it.”

 

“Oh did you now?” Wilson scoffed. “You want to talk about balance? You want to talk about payback and restitution? Then let’s talk about what you did that night, aside from setting yourself up as target practice for Stark. Because in that van you noticed and stopped from getting away? They were loading up a virus of some sort, that according to Bruce, would have been strong enough to wipe out the entirety of New York in less than three days. And you were the one who caught on in time and put a stop to it. So, yeah, you were forced to do shitty things in your past, but you also just made sure that over eight million people survived. Think about _that_ the next time you decide your life’s not worth much.”

 

“I’m not going to do it again.”

 

“Is that a promise?” Wilson asked.

 

“It’s a promise.”

 

“Well good,” Wilson nodded. “And when you need help, fucking ask for it. I know there’s no way in hell you’d agree to counseling, and you’ve got your reasons for that too. But you do have friends, and a family, and we back each other up when we have to. Remember that the next time too.”

 

Another pause, another stillness, and yet another choice to make. And Bucky made it.

 

“Thank you,” he whispered. “And I do like you…Sam.”

 

“Of course you do, I’m fucking charming,” Sam said easily.

 

“You’re a flying chicken is what you are.” And one more choice. “But you’ve always done well by Steve, and I’m grateful for that.” It was Sam’s turn to be struck speechless, blinking as if he had just been caught in the flash of a photo being taken.

 

“You’re welcome” he finally managed to say. “Although I’ll tell you, he doesn’t make it easy sometimes.”

 

“You’re telling me,” Bucky nodded. “And it’s only gotten worse as we’ve gotten older.”

 

“Yeah, one day me and you are gonna sit down and you’re going to tell me all the shit Steve used to pull when he was a kid, because I don’t think any of _that_ ever made it into the history books.”

 

“It’ll take months.” Bucky picked up his sandwich.

 

“I’ll clear my calendar.”

 

Bucky took a bite of his sandwich, and then a sip of his tea, before he put his mug down and asked another question he didn’t think he had the right to ask.

 

“How is he?”

 

“Who?”

 

“Tony Stark.”

 

Sam sighed and shook his head. “He’s fine, or he’s going to be. Steve beat the shit out of him, but he’s got the best doctors in the world on call, and he should make a full recovery. A least physically. As for the rest of us, well, that remains to be seen.”

 

“What do you mean?” Bucky was confused.

 

“Bucky, whatever your reasons were, and according to Thor they’re valid ones even if he refused to share what they were with any of us, no matter how much Steve begged him to, the fact of the matter is, Tony did fire on an unarmed man who was on his knees. And that’s not something any of us are comfortable with.”

 

“But the Avengers –“

 

“Are not Tony Stark, or Iron Man, no matter what he likes to think,” Sam cut him off. “He doesn’t get to make those types of decisions for us. And trust me, this isn’t the first time he’s made a really bad decision.”

 

“I didn’t mean –“

 

“Bucky,” Sam cut him off again. “No matter what Tony, or even Nick Fury may think, they’re not the heart of this team. That’s always been Steve. He pulls us together, makes us believe in ourselves and what we stand for. He asks for a lot, but is always willing to give twice as much. That’s why he’s our Captain, and not Tony. Where he goes, we follow, because your boy knows what the hell he’s doing and always does his best for us as well as the world.”

 

“He always did,” Bucky acknowledged, because he knew, better than anyone, just how true that was.

 

“So keep taking care of his heart, because you’re the only one he’ll really let do it. And the world still needs him, now even more than ever.”

 

“It never needed him as much as me,” was all Bucky could say.

 

“Then do your job, and keep it safe, and me and you will be fine,” Sam threw down his final challenge. And to that, there was only one thing Bucky could say.

 

“I promise.”

 

***

 

And then there was Dewy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I am so grateful for, and adore every single one of you who has read, and either commented, kudoed, bookmarked or just came back to read the next chapter, and I can't send all of you chocolate for Valentines Day, have an extra chapter this week instead. <3 <3 <3


	34. Dewy

He heard her before he saw her. Once Sam was done having his say, and Bucky finished his sandwich, he had taken another pain pill and then made the long journey back upstairs to the bedroom, where he crawled into bed and almost immediately feel asleep, Steve in the exact same position where he had left him. When he woke, Steve was gone, Bucky once again alone in their bedroom, except for the Pizzas, who were, as they had been, his four, warm, soft constant companions. He did a quick survey of his body ( _pain, pain, even if he was mobile, there was still so much pain_ ) and after a moment’s argument with himself, decided to take a shower and head down to the kitchen to get himself something to eat, hoping there were still some of those pain pills left.

 

There were voices coming from the living room as he made his way down the stairs, male voices, so he knew Sam, Thor and Clint were still there. But each step was taking all his concentration, so he couldn’t focus on what they were saying.

 

And that’s when he heard her.

 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea Dewy,” Steve was saying.

 

“I don’t give a damn what you think Steven Grant Rogers,” Dewy’s snarling voice cut Steve’s off. Bucky sighed and suddenly he couldn’t take another step. She was the only one left, the last one he had yet to face, and from the way she was speaking, it sounded as if she had finally come to have her reckoning. He knew it was going to happen, the confrontation inevitable, but he had been hoping to put it off for just a few more days. And then he thought of Nina, _(and oh god, the baby, that baby, she was never going to let him hold Nina in his arms again)_ , and his knees started shaking so badly he had to sit himself down on the top step and lean against the bannister, his eyes closing.

 

But Dewy had always been a surprise, and she was one now.

 

“He is my _brother_ , and for all intents and purposes, Nina’s father. If you think I’m going to let you keep us from him because you believe he deserves to be punished for what he did, well then, you are not the man any of us thought you were Steven Rogers,” was her cutting reply. There was something in her voice Bucky had never heard before; not the shadows and hisses he knew could echo in his own, or the storms and thunder that had been in Steve’s when he confronted Tony. It was the voice of a mother, the Goddess, and she was calling down her fury in a threat of earthquakes the likes of which the world had never seen.

 

“Woah, woah, wait a minute!” Steve said.

 

“You don’t know what happened Dewy,” Sam added, his voice trying to soothe, calm, pacify.

 

“Don’t patronize me,” Dewy’s words silenced them all. “I know _exactly_ what happened, thanks to this one over here who thought it was a good idea to drag Bucky to my mother’s house and make him tell her _everything_ that happened, with tears in his eyes as he begged her forgiveness, while my mother cried and slapped him, and this pendejo stood there smiling like a pig in shit the entire time, because he was pissed off, and instead of just admitting he was hurt and worried, he had to make sure that everyone else felt as much pain as he did.”

 

“Wait a minute,” Clint tried to counter, only to be cut off as well.

 

“Shut up,” Dewy said. “You think I don’t know what you were doing? You men are all the same. You get upset, you get scared, and instead of just admitting it, you have to bully everyone else until they all feel as bad as you do. Why do you think I never wasted my time marrying any of you? Because you’re all the same. And that’s not something I need in my life.”

 

“Mistress Dewy, that was not –“ It was Thor’s turn to be ignored.

 

“And I’ll tell you all something else. Especially you, Steven Grant Rogers. You all claim to know what’s best, or that you know Bucky so well. Well, if that’s the case, I don’t get why any of you are surprised by what happened the other night. Because if you are, then you know _nothing_ about him.” From the silence that followed, Bucky could tell everyone else was just as surprised as he was by her words. “He’s a good man, the best man –“

 

“I know that, Dewy, better than anyone.” Steve was either very brave, or very stupid. Depending on how Dewy reacted however, it remained to be seen.

 

“Oh do you?” Her voice hadn’t changed. Nor did she raise it. In fact, the entire time she spoke, it never rose beyond a conversational level. But still, _but still_ , it was all her, and behind it, the power of every woman who had ever defended one of her own. “Then what did you think was going to happen? What do you think a good man does when he’s face to face with a mistake from his past? A good man tries to make amends. And that’s what he did. He stood up and admitted what he did, and tried to make amends. Maybe not in a way you would have approved of, or would’ve had the courage to do, but he did it.”

 

“Are you saying that he should have done what he did?” Steve asked, his voice beginning to rise.

 

“I’m saying it was inevitable. And maybe you should have thought of that before you dragged him out there with you in the middle of a battle where _that man_ was going to be,” was Dewy’s answer. But she wasn’t done. Far from it. “And let me ask you something else. When you all made the decision to bring Bucky with you, because you needed him and his skills, did you ever once stop to think what Tony Stark would do when he came face to face with the man who killed his parents? Did any of you think about maybe telling him this was a possibility and let him get used to the idea first? Or did you just make up your minds, and think because your dicks were bigger that he would react the way you wanted him to?” She paused then, and there was no answer, from anyone. “Oh, you didn’t consider that did you? And here the world thinks that you’re all such brilliant tacticians. Maybe you should have thought about that before you dragged Bucky into your messes.”

 

“He had apologized and was on his knees,” Steve hissed.

 

“And how many times has Bucky apologized to you for what happened? Have you forgiven him yet Captain Rogers? Or is he too hurt right now to get on his knees and apologize in the way you think he should?” was Dewy’s cool response.

 

“Now just you wait a minute,” Steve’s growl tried to interrupt, but Dewy was not done, far from it.

 

“And here’s something else you all need to think about before you decide you know what’s best,” she went on, without even pausing for a breath. “Everybody loves the Avengers, you’re the world’s heroes, and yes, you’ve all done a lot for this world. And when you came out of the ice, Steven Grant Rogers, the entire world celebrated and there were parades in the street. I even went to the one here in New York. But Bucky didn’t have that when he came back. There were no cheers, no parades, and no one to welcome him back home. He had to do it all by himself. And he still has to hide in the shadows and cover his face whenever he goes out, because if the wrong people notice him, HYDRA will come for him. So you get to go out there and fight, and have everybody cheer when you’re done. And when you go back to your planet, Prince Thor, I’m sure all your people welcome you back with open arms. Bucky doesn’t have that, he’ll never have that. He has to do a nasty job, that’s necessary, so you don’t have to. And he’ll have to hide who he is for the rest of his life. But I will be _damned_ if you think I’m going let you take away from him what little he does have. Because I love that man, with all of my heart, and my arms will always be open for him whenever he comes back. Because he deserves no less.”

 

“Of course he doesn’t,” Sam was daring enough to try again. “But that doesn’t mean he didn’t do something very stupid.”

 

“Oh,” and there was a shift in Dewy’s voice, light and soft, so that it was almost playful. But even from where he sat on the steps, Bucky knew it was just a feint, a bit of sweet to lure her victim into her trap. “Because you’re so perfect, and you’ve never made a mistake or done something you’ve regretted? Because let me tell you, I have. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, and I can admit to that. But I’ll tell you something else. The one thing that got me through was knowing there were people out there who still loved me in spite of that. Who could forgive me, because they knew I was doing my best. And before you open your mouth, Clint Barton, it wasn’t my mother, because she’s made her own mistakes too. Plenty of them. But unlike the rest of you, I was able to learn from mine. And that’s why I’m going to see my brother and you are _not_ going to get into my way. Because he needs a hug and for someone to tell him they love him and are happy he survived instead of pissed off at him. Or he’s going to make another choice, and leave, because that’s something else a good man does when he thinks he’s nothing more than a burden to everyone he loves. Do we understand each other, gentlemen?” Bucky had no idea what was exchanged in the silence that followed her last words, only that even from where he was, the air felt heavy and thick. Bucky couldn’t begin to imagine what else was not being said.

 

“Good. Now,” Dewy said after a few more of those unbearable seconds had passed. When she next spoke, her voice was entirely different; softer, sweeter, filled with the earthlike warmth that was so much of who she was. “Come on Bucky. Come down from the top of those stairs and let me get a good look at you.”

 

“How did you know I was there?” Bucky asked when he finally made it to the first floor.

 

“Oh please, I’ve raised three daughters already. Do you think I don’t know when somebody’s trying to eavesdrop?” And then, and then she smiled at him, and it was the first smile anyone had turned in his direction for almost five days. It was warm and soft, and just like she had promised, filled with happiness at seeing him. And Bucky was so grateful he almost burst into tears right there and then.

 

“Oh look at you. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” she said, as she came up to him, Nina cradled on her hip. And then the baby, that tiny girl, laid her eyes on him and started to coo, her little chubby arms reaching for him. “If I promise to be gentle, can I hug you? Or are you in too much pain even for that?”

 

“You can hug me,” he whispered, again so grateful. Because it had been five days since someone had touched him, five days on top of more than seventy-five years of skin hunger, and no one had touched him aside from either changing his bandages or to hit him, and his skin, his soul, even with all of his pain, was _starving_.

 

Dewy shifted Nina slightly, and then she was rising to her toes, where she wrapped an arm that was gentle, _so gentle_ , around his shoulder and pulled him against her softness. It hurt, bones and muscles and nerves and skin that were still healing and too sensitive to not send tiny shocks of pain throughout his body. But Bucky never wanted her to let him go.

 

She must have known, could feel the way his body was trembling in its hunger, because she held him there against her, sharing her warmth, her strength and her endless compassion. When she did finally let go, it was to kiss his cheek, and then lift his right hand, guiding his fingers through the soft curls on Nina’s head. Nina gurgled and reached for him, gripping his fingers in her tiny hand. And for the first time in days, without any pain or guilt, Bucky was able to smile as he looked at her cherubic little face.

 

“She missed you,” Dewy told him gently. “We both did.” She took another step back and stared at him again, reaching out this time to run her fingers through his hair. “You’ve showered and washed your hair. Good. Now come on, let’s go get your coat.”

 

“Where are we going?” Bucky asked. And she was still the mother, still the Goddess, because he found himself following her as she led them to the coat closet in the foyer.

 

“I’m taking you out of here, because I think you need the break,” she announced as she opened the closet door and began to rifle through the coats and jackets. “I’m going to take you to this place I know in Jersey, that has these burgers they stuff with three different kinds of cheese, and the best chocolate lava cake you’ve ever had. And once we’re done eating, we’re going to find someplace to sit and do nothing more than people watch and talk about all the pretty boys as they walk by.” She finally found what she was looking for, pulling Bucky’s oldest and softest jacket, his very first pea coat, out of the closet, and looked at him. “Can you get this on by yourself, or do you need help?”

 

And where Bucky would have lied, and gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the pain if anyone else had asked, with her and after all she had done and said, and was still doing for him, he decided to repay her kindness with honesty.

 

“I need help,” he admitted quietly.

 

“Give me one second,” she nodded, and headed into the kitchen, where Nina’s car seat was resting on the kitchen table. She carefully strapped Nina in, and then glanced at the bottle on the kitchen counter. “Are these his pain pills?”

 

“Yes,” Steve answered.

 

“How often?”

 

“Two every six hours, but it’s okay to give him more if he needs them. But he needs to eat first.”

 

“Hmm,” was all Dewy said to Steve before she tucked the pills in her pocket. “Do you need them now Bucky?”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky admitted again.

 

“All right. I have some Cheerios in my bag. Once we’re in the car, you can have some of those and then I’ll give them to you.” She picked the car seat up by its handle and made her way back to the entryway. She set it down on the floor and then slowly, carefully, gently, helped Bucky into his jacket.

 

“I would love to try this lava cake with you, Valkyrie Dewy,” Thor said into the trembling silence that had settled around them all. She glanced over her shoulder at him, at all four of the men who were standing in the living room watching the two of them prepare to leave.

 

“Huh,” Dewy snorted and then looked at Bucky. “He thinks that by calling me a Valkyrie he can convince me to take him with us. But you know what? He can go fuck himself instead.” She winked at Bucky and began to button his coat. Her fingers, even with their long nails, were deft and agile, and Bucky barely felt it as she did her best to ensure his warmth.

 

“I can – I can watch Nina while you guys are out,” Steve ventured next. Her back was to him, so Steve didn’t see the way Dewy rolled her eyes upward, silently asking for patience. She took a deep breath, and finished fastening the last button, before she released it with a heavy sigh.

 

“Give me your phone Bucky.” Bucky did as she asked, placing his phone in her outstretched hand. And then she turned around. “No thank you, Captain Rogers,” she said in the voice she had been using earlier. “Nina needs to spend time with her father. And if you think I’m the kind of mother who would leave my child with a bunch of men who think it’s all right to kick someone when they’re already down, then you can _all_ go fuck yourselves.” She made her way back into the living room, and if Bucky hadn’t witnessed it himself, he would have never believed how those four men, who easily towered over her, each took a step back as she approached. “Here.” She tossed Bucky’s cell toward Steve, who caught it one handed. “I have my phone on me, so if there’s an emergency you can text me to let me know. But I better not receive one single call or text from any of you while we’re gone. If I do, I can promise you that when we get back, I’ll shove that phone of yours so far up your ass they won’t even be able to find it on Asgard. Believe me.” She stood in front of them, staring at them all as if daring them to challenge her. When they said nothing, she nodded. “Good. We understand each other.” She held out her hand. “The keys to your truck, Captain Rogers. _Now_.”

 

Once Steve handed them over, again without a word, Dewy made her way back to Bucky, all smiles and her usual rolling gait. She only stopped to wrap the bright orange scarf she had been wearing around her own neck over Bucky’s shoulders, surrounding him in the softness of cashmere and the scent of her perfume, before she picked up Nina’s carrier, slid her arm through his and carefully helped him down the stairs.

 

“Now come on Bucky, let’s go listen to some horrible eighties music, and I’ll tell you all about what Gus and his Granny Domanitrix got up to this week while we drive. Because I had no idea you could do that with plastic wrap.”

 

***

 

She was as good as her word.

 

She got him settled in Steve’s SUV, adjusting the front seat so Bucky could stretch out and be comfortable, before she handed him a small plastic bag with Cheerios that she made sure he finished, before she gave him his pills along with a child’s sized bottle of apple juice. And then she turned the radio on, to a station that did indeed play only eighties music, while she drove them to New Jersey, and told him all about the adventures their neighbors had gotten into over the past five days. She didn’t scold or yell at him, she just was, easy going and full of laughter by his side, and infinitely patient with his slower pace as she made sure that no matter where they went, he was as comfortable as possible.

 

“Why?” he finally asked, when they were sitting in the chairs next to the water fountain on the ground level of the outlet mall she had driven them too, both of their bellies warm with cheese-filled hamburgers and chocolate lava cake. She pulled her gaze from the young couple she had been watching, and turned her whiskey brown eyes to him.

 

“Because it was true what I said. All of it,” she began to explain calmly, not a hint of shame to her. “And because I know what it’s like.” She reached out and took his hand in hers, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze. “I’ve made a lot of my own mistakes Bucky. I got pregnant with Talia when I was sixteen because I was dating a cute boy and wanted him to like me so badly I didn’t stop to make him put on a condom when we had sex. And it was a bad choice, I can admit to that. But even bad choices can end up being blessings in disguise. Because I love my daughter, more than anything, and she’s going to be a doctor.” Dewy smiled. “And you made a bad choice, I’m not going to deny it. But I can understand how sometimes in the heat of the moment, a bad choice seems like the right one at the time.” She squeezed his hand again. “But I also meant it when I said that what helps the most is knowing that even when we make a bad choice, you still have the love and support of the people around you.”

 

“Your mother is an amazing woman,” Bucky agreed. Dewy let out a tiny little laugh and eyed him sharply.

 

“ _Our_ mother kicked me out of the house when she first found out,” she said.

 

“What?” Bucky asked, unable to believe what he had just heard.

 

“Oh yes,” she went on with an easy nod. “She was furious with me, so mad she could barely even look at me. It was Manny, her cousin, who took me in and told me everything was going to be all right.” She shook her head at Bucky’s expression. “I know you adore her Bucky, and she does love you, with all of her heart. And I’ll be the first to say that she’s an amazing woman. But she’s always had a temper, and a tendency to believe that if she just loves people enough and feeds them all of her food, it makes everything better. I think she sometimes forgets we’re all human. But she’s not perfect, and has made plenty of her own mistakes she’s had to learn from. We all have.” Dewy shrugged. “It’s what makes us human, I suppose. And you made…I’m not even going to say a bad choice Bucky. You simply made the best one you could at that moment. I understand that. I don’t like the choice you made, but I can understand why you made it. And now it’s my turn to make a choice. And I’m choosing to tell you that I still love you, no matter what, and it would have broken my heart if something had happened to you. So, in case no one has said it to you yet, I’m so happy you survived, because I would have missed you. And so would have Nina.” And then, even better, Dewy gave him one of her smiles that was all mischief and foxlike glee at the world. “And you need to stick around to teach her how to take down any asshole who tries to lay a hand on her in less than five moves.”

 

“It’ll be two.”

 

“Of course it will,” Dewy laughed. “I can hardly wait.” She turned back to the crowd, her hand still in his, that smile still on her face. Bucky watched her people watch, and then made another choice, and leaned over so that his shoulder rested against hers.

 

“Thank you,” he whispered into her hair. “I needed this, so badly. Thank you.”

 

“I know,” she said, without bothering to look at him. Then she let go of his hand, but only for an instant, before she wrapped her arm around his waist. “And you’re welcome.”

 

***

 

They spent the rest of the day there, people watching. They spoke when they had something to say, and were quiet when they didn’t. Towards the early evening, Dewy got up to get them some food to snack on, and when she came back, Bucky was holding Nina in his arms. She didn’t say anything, just reached into the baby bag and pulled out a bottle so he could feed her. It hurt, but sometimes the pain was worth it. And Bucky needed this, needed to hold his goddaughter, and feel her own heartbeat strong and steady against his arm, while she first gurgled at him and then fell into a contented sleep, knowing she was safe and secure in his embrace.

 

They stayed there until nearly closing time, when Dewy gathered all of their things together, and waited patiently as Bucky slowly made his way back to the SUV. When Bucky admitted that he could use another pain pill, she pulled into the nearest McDonalds drive-thru, where they both ordered Quarter Pounders with cheese that they ate in the truck before Bucky took his pill and then ended up dozing for the rest of the drive back to Sunset Park.

 

“Bucky, wake up. We’re home,” he came to, to her soft voice and the gentle pressure of her hand on his arm. Bucky squinted and glanced out at the street, seeing they were indeed in front of the row house, whose windows were dark.

 

“Nnguh,” he groaned as he rubbed the grit from his eyes. She laughed.

 

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay with me tonight? You know I have an extra bedroom with the girls away at school, and I really wouldn’t mind. You’d be more than welcome,” she offered kindly.

 

“No, I just really want to crash in my own bed right now,” Bucky shook his head. “But thank you. Not just for the offer, but for today. All of it. Thank you so much.”

 

“You’re more than welcome Bucky,” she smiled as she switched off the ignition. “But at least let me help you get up the stairs. And then I’ll text you tomorrow and let you know where I parked the truck.”

 

“’Kay.” Bucky agreed and then waited as she came around to his side to help him out of the SUV. They had just reached the first step, her arm a gentle but steady band of strength around his waist, when the door opened to reveal Steve standing in the doorway, looking both nervous and concerned.

 

“Oh look,” Dewy said, all easy casualness. “Even stupid can learn.”  Bucky didn’t say anything; it was taking all of his concentration to make it up the steps.

 

“Here, let me help –“

 

“No thank you.” Apparently Dewy was not done being angry with Steve just yet. “We don’t need your help. We can manage just fine on our own.”

 

“Dewy,” Steve tried, but Dewy must have shot him another one of her glares, and he fell silent, standing quietly by as the two of them made their way up the steps. Once they were inside, Dewy  again helped him with his coat, as gentle as she had been earlier, before she reached into her pocket and handed Bucky his bottle of medication.

 

“He had his last dose and some food a little less than two hours ago,” was all she said to Steve, before she turned back to Bucky and once again pulled him into a hug. “Get some sleep. I’ll bring Nina back for another visit tomorrow.” Then she smiled, kissed his cheek, and without so much as a glance in Steve’s direction, disappeared through the front door, down the steps and into the truck. Both Bucky and Steve watched her go.

 

“She uh…She’s still really pissed off at the rest of us, huh?” Steve finally managed to say. Bucky ignored him. It had been a wonderful day, an amazing day, and just what he needed. But he was still healing, and on top of all of that it had been a _long_ day, and he was going to need the rest of his energy to make it all the way up to the third floor and into bed. He was staring up at the stairs, trying to decide if he should just fuck it all, and crash on the Lay-Z-Boy, which was closer to the kitchen anyway, when he felt Steve by his side.

 

“Here, let me help you,” he said softly.

 

“I can manage,” Bucky refused, taking a deep breath in preparation as he reached for the banister.

 

“I know you can Buck,” Steve went on in that same quiet voice. “But you don’t have to. And I want to help.”

 

“Are you sure it’s worth it? It’s not just gonna piss you off more?” Bucky heard himself ask.

 

“Are you saying I don’t have a right to be upset?”

 

“Yeah, all right, it’s gonna be like that,” Bucky sighed. “Never mind Stevie, go back to doing whatever you were doing before I came home. I can manage by myself.”

 

“I didn’t mean it like that Bucky,” Steve said with a shake of his head. “It’s just…You almost died and it scared the shit outta me.” He paused and took a deep breath, running a hand over the back of his neck. “And I’m still upset about that. But Dewy’s right. I need to make sure you know that I’m so happy you’re still alive, that you survived, and even though I’m mad, I still love you more than anything.”

 

“I’m sorry for what I put you through Steve,” Bucky told him. “For all the shit I’m still putting you through.”

 

“Yeah, I know. And it is a lot Bucky, but, well, just so you know…Totally fucking worth it.” Steve lowered his hand and took a step forward. “And I’m sorry too. Now _please_ , will you let me help you up the stairs?” Bucky nodded, and Steve came even closer, and that’s exactly what they spent the next ten minutes doing.

 

“Here, sit. I’ll get you some pajamas.” Steve directed him toward the bed once they reached the room.

 

“Where is everybody?” Bucky finally thought to ask as he sat, watching as Steve dug through their drawers.

 

“Sam and Clint are crashing tonight at my old place,” Steve told him. “And Thor said he was going to have a conversation with Tony, but that he would definitely be back tomorrow.” Steve glanced over his shoulder, an amused look on his face. “I think, after today, Dewy is going to find herself with a new admirer. He apparently has a bit of a thing for women with balls of steel.” He paused and swallowed. “And loyalty.” He shook his head as if to chase the thought away and then laughed. “And if Clint wasn’t absolutely head over heels about Natasha, I think he’d be trying to throw his hat in that ring as well.”

 

“She’s too good for the lot of them.”

 

“She really is. But she knows how to make her point.” Steve came over to the bed, and knelt down in front of Bucky, carrying a bundle of clothes. “Now lift your arms and let me help you get changed. Then I’ll grab you something to eat if you’re hungry, or you can just crash. You look like you need to.”

 

“I’m good, I just want to sleep.” Bucky lifted his arms.

 

“’Kay,” Steve nodded and then proceeded to help Bucky undress. But this time, his hands weren’t cool and professional, but gentle, concerned as they eased the way. He made sure to check Bucky’s dressings and ask about his ribs, as he helped Bucky into an old, soft sweatshirt, one of his, heavy with his scent. Then he helped Bucky with the pants, also soft and warm, and a little loose around his waist, which meant they too were Steve’s, and followed those with a pair of fuzzy socks. And then…

 

And then…

 

To Bucky eternal relief and gratefulness, he climbed into bed behind Bucky, clicked off his nightstand lamp, tucked the blankets around them, and started to run his fingers through his hair. ( _Thank god, thank god, thank god, finallyfinallyfinally._ )

 

“I don’t know who you are sometimes,” Steve whispered quietly a few minutes later. “And that terrifies me. Because I’ve known you all my life, and I should know you better than this by now.” Bucky sighed, reached up and pulled Steve’s hand from his hair, wrapping his own around it before he pressed it to his heart, still sore, still hurting, both within and without.

 

“I’m not him anymore, Steve,” Bucky whispered back. “I’m not that Bucky you knew when we were kids. And I’m not the Asset either. I’m both. And neither of us are what we once were. We’ve become something – someone else. Me.”

 

“I know,” Steve murmured into his hair.

 

“But the part of me that was that kid still loves you with all of his heart. And believe it or not, so does the part of me that was also once the Asset. One who was two who is now one. And this me, _this me_ loves you more than either of them ever could on their own.”

 

“Is that how you think of yourself?” There was honest curiosity in Steve’s voice, as he shifted his hand so their fingers were entwined over Bucky’s heart. “One who was two who is now one?” Bucky nodded. “Huh.” He fell quiet after that, but Bucky could hear his thoughts turning.

 

“And I know you’re not that same kid from Brooklyn anymore, Bucky,” he said after a few minutes. “But then again, neither am I, I guess. But…I don’t think I could love you then like I love you now either.”

 

“Of course not, you dumbass,” Bucky rolled his eyes even though he knew Steve couldn’t see it. But then it was his turn to fall quiet, while he tried to put into words something he had known, had always known, no matter who he may have been.

 

“And love is scary Stevie,” he finally went on. “Don’t let anyone tell you different. Because when you love somebody the way we love each other, you’re giving someone else a hell of a lot of power over your heart. And that can be fucking terrifying, especially when you’re as messed up as the two of us are. But that doesn’t mean it’s not worth it. Because it is. Every single fucking moment is so goddamned worth it, and I wouldn’t change a fucking thing. Because we’re here together now, and I had no idea anything in my life could ever be this good.”

 

“Me too Bucky, me too,” Steve whispered, pulling his hand free so he could wrap his arms around Bucky’s waist and pull him into the endless wall of his chest; all of those muscles and shoulders that still, _still_ , weren’t big enough for the heart that beat beneath. “Just… _Please,_ don’t do that to me again.”

 

“I won’t,” Bucky agreed easily. “He had his shot, and he took it. He only gets one. Because like you said the other day, I’m yours now. I belong to you. And no one, _no one_ ever gets to take anything from you ever again. Not on my watch.”

 

“Thank you.” And then Steve finally, _finally_ pressed a kiss to the back of Bucky’s neck. “And it’s the same for me. Not on my watch.”

 

“’Til the end of the line, yeah?”

 

“Yeah Buck, ‘til the end of the line. Always.”

 

They said nothing more after that. There was nothing left to be said. But that night, held safely in the protective cradle and heat of Steve’s arms, Bucky was able to sleep through the entire night, without once having to wake up to take any of his painkillers.

 

***

 

“So, I’m sorry I was a dick who hit you, and then dragged you to your mother’s house while you were still hurt and made the both of you cry. I was upset and mad and scared after what you did, but instead of being an asshole, I should have just hugged you or some shit like that, and told you I was happy you were still alive, instead of being a dickless pig with the face of a jackass.” Clint declared the next morning when Bucky once again opened the door to find him, Sam, and Thor standing there.

 

“Who called you that?” Bucky asked.

 

“Mr. Yuen,” Clint shrugged. “If you could please tell him I apologized, and that it’s okay for him to give us some of those pork buns again, I would greatly appreciate it.” Behind him, Sam cleared his throat. “Oh, and Senora Perez too, so she’ll stop spitting in our Bustelo.” Another throat clearing. “And Elena at Georgio’s.” And yet another one. “Oh, and the dude who works at Vito’s.” And even one more. “And uh, the guys who work the counter at Rueben’s. And that kid at Dunkin Donuts.”

 

Bucky squinted at him. “I didn’t say anything to any of them.”

 

“Sounds like Dewy’s been busy,” Steve said from over his shoulder.

 

“You have no idea,” Clint grumbled. Then he looked up and shrugged. “But yeah, I am sorry. It was a shitty thing for me to do, and I coulda handled it better.”

 

“It’s okay, we’re good.” Bucky stepped aside to let him into the house. As Clint moved past, he paused, and then he reached out and pulled Bucky into a tight hug.

 

“Don’t do that again, you stupid son of a bitch,” he murmured into Bucky’s ear. “I love you like a brother, and you scared the fucking shit outta me.”

 

“I’m sorry.” Bucky returned the embrace, because he knew, more than anyone, how vital a hug could be when you knew you had done something wrong. “And it won’t happen again.”

 

“Damn straight it won’t,” Clint said, before he slapped his shoulder and made his way toward their kitchen.

 

“And um, I meant a lot of what I said the other night, but I probably shouldn’t have ambushed you like I did in the kitchen, and also said I was happy you’re still alive.” Apparently it was Sam’s turn next as he stood in the doorway, looking like a kid who had gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “And if you could let Dewy know I also apologized, that’d be great.” And then he too reached out, and hugged Bucky. It was not as tight an embrace as Clint’s had been, but it was just as sincere.

 

“Yeah, okay,” Bucky nodded once he was done. Then Thor was stepping forward and Bucky just shook his head. “You didn’t hit me with your hammer. We’re good.”

 

“Yes, I know Bucky,” Thor’s arms were already outstretched. “But I would still like a hug.” He was a big man, bigger than even Steve or himself. Yet, as Steve had told him before, and as Bucky had recently come to discover himself, he was also a very gentle one. And so were his hugs.  “And if you could let Valkyrie Dewy know that I also said that I was glad you were still alive, it would be greatly appreciated. I did not say that during our discussion and she was correct. I should have. And…” Thor glanced down at Bucky’s feet, at Meatball who was staring at him in that way universal to all cats. _Hissing._ “If you could talk to your little Earth dragons as well and let them know that I intended no harm?”

 

“You’re one your own with Dewy. She always makes up her own mind. But I’ll see what I can do about the Pizzas.”

 

“She’s never going to let us hold that baby ever again, is she?” Clint whined from the kitchen table.

 

“Shoes. The higher and strappier the better.” Bucky did a quick scan of the street once Thor walked past him. Across the way, Senora Lopez had just exited her house, her little dog to tow. She saw him and waved, and Bucky waved back before he closed and locked the door. When he turned around, Thor was kneeling on the floor, trying to coax Sausage and Mushroom to come out from beneath the kitchen table. They were ignoring him, and from not too far away, Pepperoni was very deliberately cleaning her ass. Bucky wanted to laugh at the look of disappointment on Thor’s face.

 

“Yeah, good luck with that one Thor. None of those cats want anything to do with me right now,” Steve said from the kitchen. “Welcome to my life.”

 

“That’s because they have good taste,” Bucky said as he made his own way into the kitchen.

 

“It’s because you’re always feeding them chicken,” Steve griped. Bucky ignored him, and pulled the pot off of the burner where he had been boiling some chicken specifically for the Pizzas. They immediately started to gather around his feet, meeping happily as they began to climb his legs. He was still sore, and so much of his body still hurt, but like with Nina, it was a small pain that would always be worth it.

 

“Yeah well Stevie, a smart man always goes with what works,” Bucky said as he put the boiled chicken breast on the cutting board, and then reached for a knife.

 

“Yeah, spoiling them with food.” Steve was gathering mugs from their cabinets to place on the table.

 

“Worked with you, didn’t it?”

 

“Sorry Buck, I gotta agree with Dewy. It was the ass that did it for me.” Steve was at the refrigerator now, looking for the cream.

 

“Oh please Stevie, it was the hair. Everyone knows that.”

 

“Yep,” Clint chimed from his usual spot at their kitchen table. “They worked it out.”

 

“Of course they did,” Thor said. “As if there was ever any doubt.” And then he smiled and joined Clint at their kitchen table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, some serious writer bits here (and I haven't done one of these in a while, so please bear with me if these are not your thing.)
> 
> Dewy.
> 
> As I've said in response to some of the comments on the previous chapter, Dewy ended up surprising the hell out of me here. I knew it was inevitable that she was going to show up and have her say. And I knew she was going to be angry and confront Bucky about what he had done, but do it in a different way than everyone else - with a more feminine touch, if you will. Except, every time I sat down and tried to write the scene, it just wouldn't work, or I was completely blocked. I'm a week-end writer, and for three weeks every time I tried to write Dewy's scene, it just completely stalled. It took me a while, and I had to take a step back and really think about this scene, and that's when I realized, that yeah Dewy was angry. But she wasn't angry with Bucky, but FOR him. Once I realized that, the scene just clicked, and my fingers couldn't get the words out fast enough. As Bucky says, Dewy has always been a surprise, but a wonderful one, and I have to say, I think this was the better direction for this chapter, as she said a lot of things that needed to be said, but she definitely did it in a very Dewy way. 
> 
> And that concludes this chapter's writerly bits. I hope you enjoyed it, and the chapter itself, and are having a great start to your week-end, no matter where you are.


	35. Words

But Steve hadn’t had his final say on the topic, at least not just yet. He waited two more weeks, until Bucky’s body had almost completely healed, except for the fading scar on Bucky’s chest that was growing fainter and fainter every day, before he struck.

It was a strange request, even Bucky had to admit to that. But ever since Dewy’s reckoning, and the following conversation in the bedroom, Steve’s attitude changed. He was attentive and concerned, but gentle where he had been cold before. A bit of the worry lingered in his eyes, but just like Bucky’s scar, it faded more and more with each passing day. He hadn’t gone back to the Tower to talk to Tony, but, well, as Bucky made his own choice, Steve had a right to make his. Bucky supposed only time would tell with that one, but all he could do was be supportive. So he was.

Which was why he was now sitting in a beam of sunlight, on the nest of pillows Steve had piled on the floor of his studio, naked as the day he’d been born.

There had been only one instance of hesitation on Bucky’s part, when Steve held up the silk scarf he wanted to use to blindfold Bucky. He had jerked at the silent request, but Steve only needed to ask, “Do you trust me Bucky?” before Bucky nodded his consent, closed his eyes, and allowed Steve to carefully tie the scarf around his head. He was gentle with the knot, thoughtful of Bucky’s hair as he gathered it so it hung over Bucky’s right shoulder. Then he positioned Bucky so he was sitting upright on the floor with his knees up, his arms wrapped around them, the line of Bucky’s back exposed to the air.

He stepped away, and Bucky could hear him gathering his materials before he returned to his position behind Bucky’s back, and sat in such a heavy silence Bucky knew he was mapping his skin with his gaze. Bucky just hoped Steve made sure to carefully hide whatever it was he ended up drawing, especially now that they had so many people constantly coming in and out of their house.

And then he felt the first touch, a long cool stripe, at the small of his back.

“What are you doing?” he asked as he flinched in reaction to the stroke.

“You’ll see,” Steve answered. “Now hold still and try to relax. This is probably going to take a while.”

It did.

Stroke after stroke, stripe after stripe, line after line. One cold kiss of wet after another that raised goosebumps on Bucky’s skin. Again and again and again. Sometimes Steve only used whatever implement he was working with, and other times he used his left hand to stretch the skin slightly while he completed his lines. It took Bucky a little while to realize what it was Steve was actually doing.

“Are you writing on me?” he asked.

“Ssh,” was all Steve said, and continued. He worked slowly, methodically, the pressure always constant as he used Bucky’s body as his canvas, moving upward then outward along Bucky’s back, leaving his mark as high as the base of Bucky’s neck, before he changed directions and began to do the same thing to the top of Bucky’s shoulder and down along his arm, first the right and then the left. Then he shifted again, and repeated the process on Bucky’s flank, his thighs, even his calves. It tickled and it tingled, but was also strangely soothing, and Bucky found himself relaxing into it, his eyelids closing beneath the blindfold, while Steve shifted and moved and focused on the different areas of Bucky’s body. Eventually Steve had Bucky let go of his legs and then lie back down on the pillows, where Bucky could feel Steve kneeling over him as he worked on Bucky’s chest. The pillows were soft, the sunlight warm, and even blind to it all, all Bucky could do was relax and melt and lose himself to Steve’s ministrations.

Maybe it was an hour that passed. Or a few. Or maybe it was days. But Bucky surrendered to it, and let Steve use his body as a canvas, until finally it was done, and Bucky heard Steve let out a contented sigh.

“Okay, there’s just one last bit to this,” he said softly. “Give me your hands, I’m going to help you stand, and then I’m going to bring you upstairs so you can see what I’ve done.”

“Really Stevie?” But he was lifting his arms, feeling the warmth of Steve’s fingers as they wrapped around his own.

“Trust me,” was all Steve said, before he was guiding Bucky to his feet, and leading him out of the studio.

“C’mon Stevie, lemme see already,” Bucky said as they slowly made their way up the stairs. Bucky didn’t need his eyes to know exactly where they were in the house, but he had waited long enough, and the curiosity was going to kill him.

“Patience Buck,” Steve told him as he led them to their bedroom. He let go of Bucky’s hands, and Bucky heard the sound of their closet being opened. Then Steve reached for him again, his shoulders this time, guiding him just a few more steps, until Bucky knew he was standing in front of the full length mirror they had hung on the inside of the door. One last adjustment, and then Steve was reaching for the knot at the back of Bucky’s head.

“Okay, I’m taking this off now, so close your eyes,” he instructed. Bucky did as he was told, holding still until he felt the blindfold fall away. He kept his head lowered for just a second more, before he opened his eyes, lifted his head and was finally able to see what Steve had done to his body.

There were no words.

Or, more precisely, there were dozens and dozens of them, running like rivers along the contours of his body. Some black, some red, some blue, some golden, the litany of Steve’s heart transcribed to Bucky’s skin.

 _Beautiful_ , there beneath his collarbone.

 _Powerful_ , on the bicep of his left arm.

 _Gentleness_ , in the palm of his right hand.

 _Beloved_ , on the inner seam of his flesh shoulder.

 _Survivor_ , in the same place on the left side.

 _Graceful_ , his thigh.

 _Dangerous_ , the crease of his hip.

 _Brave_ , his left wrist.

 _Sacred,_ his left pectoral.

 _Cherished_ , his right.

_Amazing, glorious, holy, intelligent, funny, passionate, protective, striking, companion, friend, lover, generous, kind, forgiving, stubborn, determined, honest, compassionate, sexy, independent, irresistible, troublemaker, soulmate, laughter, love…_

(And because he was Bucky’s Stevie, _jerk_ on the middle finger of his right hand and _asshole_ on the same finger on his left.)

Dozens and dozens of words. Almost every single inch of his skin covered with all the words in Steve’s heart, all the things Bucky was to him. Too many to say, too many to not, the imprint of Bucky’s life on Steve’s soul, now on Bucky’s skin.

And the last one, the final one, there in the center of Bucky’s chest, written in a blue Steve had somehow managed to match to the color of his own eyes. Directly over Bucky’s heart, a single word…

 _Mine_.

“Oh,” was all Bucky could say. It was the only word left; Steve had stolen the rest of them for his map of Bucky’s skin. And that one, that weak and useless one, was all that was left. “Oh… _Stevie_.”

“Now you know,” Steve said softly from where he stood behind him. “There aren’t enough words in the world Bucky. There never could be. But this is what I see whenever I look at you. This is what my heart tells me. Remember that the next time you have a choice to make, and choose me instead.”

There were no more words. Steve had in fact stolen them all. So Bucky spoke in the only way left to him, turned around and wrapped Stevie in his arms.

***

And of course, when the sneaky bastard had done what he did, he used permanent ink for it all. It took over a week for all of the words to finally fade away. And while Bucky may have bitched and moaned about it, in the end he was sad to see them go.

***

They healed. It was what they did.

And while those around them may not have been surprised, because in truth there was little, if anything, that could take down a super-soldier, they would have been surprised to discover that in reality, the serums and the bodies that had been created as a result, had very little to do with it in the end. Because in spite of all their muscles, and the way their bodies could regenerate and rebuild bones and organs, none of that had ever been the strongest thing about them.

That had and would always be their hearts, and the spirits encased within. Steve’s, who burned brighter than the biggest of novas, but with a core that believed in justice and fair play. And Bucky’s, who even more than Steve’s, was a shield that would protect those he loved, and could soothe the brightest of flames before they burned themselves out. Day and night, Yin and Yang. Steve and Bucky.

And those two hearts loved each other like none that had come before. And none ever would.

So, they healed.

Not just each other, but their family as well.

Clint started to spend more and more time at the row house, and even had his own bureau filled with clothes in the third bedroom of their top floor, a cup with a toothbrush and razor on the sink in their bathroom, and his preferred mug in their kitchen cabinets. They always knew when Natasha was away, because he would show up on their doorstep, usually carrying a box of cookies or a cake, and once they let him in, he would proceed to make himself at home. They never asked him for any rent, but he did do dishes, and only grumbled a little bit when they made him help redo the stairs that led to the basement.

Whenever Sam came for a visit, he stayed with them as well. Steve had agreed with Bucky to turn the last room on the second floor into his office, but as a compromise, Bucky agreed to allow Steve to put a futon instead of couch in there. It was actually quite comfortable, and that’s where Sam slept when he spent the week-end in town. Sam and Bucky’s relationship would always be a bit prickly, but Bucky didn’t mind, and eventually Steve just accepted that was how it would probably always be between them. Besides, riling Wilson up was always a fun way to spend an afternoon.

Thor still visited as often as he could, easily agreeing to spend the night on the couch, or on the futon as well if Sam wasn’t there. It got to the point where Bucky and Steve started debating on whether or not they should just get another bed for Steve’s old bedroom, since the only time Steve ever went in there anymore was when he needed some clothes. They still hadn’t come to a decision, but Bucky thought in the end they would buy one so they wouldn’t come downstairs in the morning to find a naked Asgardian prince asleep on their couch. Because seriously, there was just some shit Bucky did not need to see before his morning coffee.

Dewy eventually forgave everyone (after receiving a gift of four very expensive, but Bucky had to admit, very sexy pairs of designer shoes) and started smiling and laughing with everyone again. She left it up to Bucky to decide if and when they could all start holding Nina in their arms again, but, well, they were all good men, and Bucky thought it was important for her to grow up knowing that there were other arms in the world both gentle enough to hold her, and strong enough to always keep her safe. But if Bucky was still the only one who could get her to stop crying, well, he thought that was okay too.

He did end up having another conversation with his Mami, where once again there were tears, but no slaps this time. And the tears, these tears were soft, and warm and filled with regret but happiness. Then they simply spent some time together in Lulu’s kitchen, sitting quietly together while they drank cups of peppermint tea and Bucky ate the porkchops Lulu made especially for him.

Joey took a little bit longer, but apparently Dewy had had a conversation with her as well, talking about choices and how loving someone did sometimes hurt, but you needed to accept the people you loved the way they were. You would not love them otherwise, and really, it was Tony fucking Stark’s fault for taking the shot he had. They then had to spend the next two weeks convincing Joey not to release all of Stark Industries’ account information onto every hacker forum she knew of, Bucky promising he would start teaching her knife work, and Steve agreeing to let her look at all of the modifications on his motorcycle. And if, at one point a little more than three weeks later, all the computer systems within Stark Tower were completely shut down (including JARVIS) for four hours by an unknown hacker, all Bucky could do was roll his eyes while both Steve and Sam lectured Joey about ethics, before she finally agreed, after Sam promised to let her look at his wings, to undo what she had done.

“Our life is so weird now,” Joey told him one day as they were making their way back to Casita Pepe from one of their walks.

“You’re telling me,” Bucky hissed through his teeth, as he glanced through the glass windows to see everyone else sitting inside, eating and laughing, including a tall and broad shouldered dark skinned man, with long grey dreadlocks and a sword hanging from his back, who was apparently a comrade of Thor’s, and had been curious about the food. He had a plate of arroz con pollo in front of him, but most of his attention seemed to be on Nina, breastfeeding from the warm cradle of her mother’s arms.

“But it’s pretty good. Definitely better than it was.” She took his metal hand into her own, and then of her own volition started leading him away. There was a new book she had finished reading she wanted to tell him all about, and she wasn’t done spending time with her best friend just yet.

They were a family now, all of them. Bucky had to admit he didn’t mind. It didn’t mean everything was fixed or all of his issues had gone away. There were still nightmares, and days when he really was not able to deal with anyone else. But those were few and far between. And he still had to do his nightly checks, and let the house speak to him whenever he returned. But just like him, whenever he stood in the entryway and cocked his head to listen to the sighs and murmurs of this place that had become his home, the house didn’t seem to mind. It had its own heart, that was now full to bursting, just like Bucky’s, and the two of them had long ago agreed to protect and take care of each other, and they both agreed this was a fair exchange.

It was speaking to him now, as he knelt on the kitchen floor, placing spoonfuls of food in the Pizza’s bowls while they curled around his ankles. It was a crisp and bright November morning, and for the first time in far too long, Bucky was alone in the house. A meeting of the Avengers had been called, not due to some emergency, but by Nick Fury himself, who had insisted it was long past time everyone come to some sort of reconciliation after what had happened in October. They didn’t have to get along or all agree with each other, but the world would always need the Avengers, and according to Nick, they needed to get their shit together. Steve had finally agreed to go, and while Bucky knew he would never be able to look at Tony Stark in the same way ever again, he also knew Steve would end up doing the right thing, for the good of everyone if nothing else. It was who he had always been after all.

And Bucky had to admit that he was enjoying the morning, and the quiet, and the space to just be. It had been far too long, and while he loved Steve with everything he was, sometimes a quiet morning on your own with a new book and a cup of coffee was a treasure to be savored. Until the house whispered to him in its way, telling him what he already knew. From his crouch on the floor, Bucky closed his eyes.

He had known this was coming, was surprised it had taken this long. And it was conversation that needed to be had. So he didn’t flinch, or jerk, or even twitch. Because it was time.

“Zdravstvuyte Natalia,” he said as he rose to his feet and turned around.

“Zdravstvuyte Yakov,” the Black Widow answered from where she stood in his kitchen doorway.


	36. Red

She was beautiful.

 

She always had been. She was all lean lines, soft creamy skin, and elegant poise. Doe-like eyes the green of grasses, and a tumbling cascade of fiery red hair that poured down her shoulders and to the small of her back. Breathtaking to look at, and the promise of your every secret desire fulfilled if you could catch her eye.

 

And the most deadly woman in the world.

 

It was easy to forget that about her when face to face with her striking beauty. That she too could move like shadows, like smoke, disappearing as silently as she had appeared, before you even realized your carotid had been cut. Or that she could also make herself invisible if she wanted to, unnoticeable in a crowd despite her looks, simply because she did not want to be seen.

 

She had wrapped that intention of ignorability around her as she stood in his kitchen, wearing a slim fitting pair of black jeans and matching turtleneck, knee-high boots, and grey leather jacket, her long hair loose and free, her posture easy and relaxed. She was armed, of course she was; she never went anywhere without her own weaponry. However in a gesture of trust, today she had only come with three guns and two knives, invisible to even the best trained eye. But Bucky’s eyes and his senses had always been even better than that.

 

The one thing that Bucky knew, and knew that most people who encountered her so easily forgot, was that her deadliest weapon was her mind. And even Bucky didn’t know if he had the resources to counter that.

 

“Do you still drink tea or do you prefer coffee now?” Bucky asked her in Russian as he made his way to the kitchen counter.

 

“Coffee please,” she answered in English. “Light with cream, and four sugars.” When Bucky glanced over his shoulder to look at her, she merely shrugged with a slight quirk of her lips. “I’ve discovered that it’s okay to admit I enjoy a bit of sweet in my life these days.”

 

Bucky nodded again, waved his hand at the kitchen table, and in a gesture he knew probably surprised her, turned his back on her and began to prepare cups of coffee for the both of them. She was looking around the kitchen curiously once he sat at the table with the two mugs in his hands, taking in every detail. And Bucky knew that her showing him her curiosity was her way of expressing her grattitude for his earlier gesture of trust.

 

“Thank you.” She nodded at him just once. “It’s a beautiful kitchen. There’s quite a lot of attention to detail.”

 

“It was mostly Steve,” Bucky acknowledged. “He did all of the work in here.”

 

“Of course,” she agreed easily. “But Clint tells me the rest of the house is just as beautiful and that the two of you have done a lot of work.”

 

“He certainly seems to like spending time here.”

 

“He does.” She nodded again. “He says he always feels very comfortable here. And I wanted to thank you for that, for always making him feel welcome when I’m not around.”

 

“He’s a great guy,” Bucky said honestly.

 

“He is,” she said, lifting the mug to take a sip of her coffee. “And I’m very lucky to have him. It’s not easy, for people like us, to find someone who loves us as much as they do.” Bucky nodded; it was true and there was no reason to deny it. “But still, you should be proud of everything you’ve managed to build here.”

 

“I am,” Bucky admitted, taking his own sip of coffee. “I’ve been very lucky.” In her responding silence, Bucky could hear her agreement.

 

“I have to admit, I thought you would have come sooner,” he finally said. She shrugged.

 

“So did I,” she responded after a few seconds. “But you weren’t ready until now.”

 

“Why are you here Natalia?” Bucky finally asked.

 

“Please,” she corrected him coolly. “Don’t call me that _Yakov._ My name is Natasha. It’s the only name now that really matters to me.”

 

“My apologies.” Bucky could concede this; he knew, more than anyone, the importance of having the right to be called by your own name. “And my name is Bucky.”

 

“I know.” Then she did something strange, and looked away, taking a deep breath as she did. “And I came to apologize. To check up on you, yes, but mostly to say I’m sorry.” And oh, this woman, she was deadly, her knives as accurate as Bucky’s own, because nothing could have shocked him more than her words. 

 

“Don’t look at me like that,” she laughed when he hadn’t said anything. “Even I can admit when I’ve done something wrong. And I was wrong to sneak into your house that first time and plant all of those bugs. And it was wrong of me to try and followed you and Steve that last time.” But then her expression grew serious. “But I was worried about you, the both of you, but mostly you Bucky.”

 

“Why?” Bucky asked again.

 

“Because I’ve been where you’ve been. And even though our experiences with HYDRA aren’t exactly the same, I know a lot about what you’ve been going through. I’ve been through it myself, and I know it’s not easy. I’ve even made a lot of the same mistakes you have, and I wanted to help you, maybe keep you from making the same ones.”

 

“Oh really?” Bucky heard himself ask, not believing a word of what she was saying.

 

“Oh really,” she smiled a knowing little smile at him. But then her face shifted yet again, and if Bucky was not mistaken, he could have sworn there was sadness in her eyes now as she looked at him. “Even the one you made last month. I did the same exact thing.”

 

_“What?”_

 

“I wasn’t even surprised.” She shook her head. “I don’t know why Clint was.”

 

“What?” Bucky asked again. She put down her mug and leaned forward, resting only one of her elbows on the table.

 

“When I escaped from HYDRA, I wasn’t any different than you. I was a mess in my head, and the only thing I wanted was to keep out of their reach and stay alive. But Nick Fury must have found out about me somehow, I still don’t know how, and decided he wanted to recruit me for SHIELD, although I didn’t know that at the time. So he sent one of his best agents after me, and I spent the next year of my life fleeing from city to city, never stopping, because this agent was good, and no matter what I did or where I went, he somehow always managed to find me.”

 

“Clint,” Bucky said.

 

“Clint,” she nodded. “It took him fourteen months to finally track me down. By that time I was exhausted and just so damned tired of running. And unlike you, I didn’t have a house or a childhood friend willing to help me. And I had spent a lot of time during that year thinking about everything I’d done, everything the Red Room had turned me into, and discovered that even HYDRA’s infamous Black Widow could feel guilt. So when Clint finally cornered me the last time in Wigan, I got down on my knees, just like you, and bared my throat. Begged him to make it quick.”

 

Bucky blinked her, stunned. She was sharing something with him he doubted anyone else but Clint and her knew.

 

“And what did he do?”

 

“He shook his head, came over and held out his hand to me,” she said with a smile that was both soft and bittersweet. “And then he said ‘ _I’m not here to kill you, Kitten. I’m here to take you home. Now come on. You look like you could use some rest._ ’” She paused to take another sip of coffee and then shook her head yet again. “He was the first person who was ever kind to me, to trust me not to stab him in the back. I’ve been in love with him ever since. And trust me, I haven’t made it easy for him.”

 

“He’s a great guy,” Bucky said again.

 

“The best.” And here was something else Bucky was sure very few people had ever seen. The Widow’s – no, Natasha’s face when it was lit from within with love. It made her even more beautiful if that was possible.

 

“So I understand why you did what you did, I do,” she went on. “But I’d been worried about you for a long time, because even though we have a lot of the same experiences, I know what HYDRA did to you was even worse than what they did to me. And I’ll admit, after I saw what you did to everyone at the base where they were keeping you in the National Treasury, I had some concerns. Because you have a lot of skills Bucky, very dangerous ones, and at that point I was sure it was already too late for you to come back from what they’d done to you. And Steven was not going to listen to anything any of us had to say about you.”

 

It was one of his first memories of this new life, and of one of the first choices he had deliberately made. It was also one of the very few where he felt absolutely no regret. Bucky leaned back in his chair and met her gaze; let her look and let her see _that truth_ in him, and do with it what she would.

 

“You know what they did to me. You saw for yourself.” There was a hiss in his voice, the serpent of his garden that would not be denied. “It was my right.”

 

“I did, and it was,” she eventually conceded. And then she lowered her head, and took a moment to gather her own thoughts, before she came to another decision and broached the ugliest of truths between them.

 

“They made me watch them do it to you,” she said softly into the morning air. “Threatened me with it. Told me if I didn’t complete every mission they’d do it to me too, freeze me, just like they froze you. But only after they put me in that damned chair. And I believed them, I was terrified they would.”

 

“You had a right to be,” Bucky was finally able to admit. “You wouldn’t have survived it.”

 

“No serum,” she said with a knowing tilt of her head.

 

Bucky nodded. “It’s both a blessing and a curse, and the only reason I lasted as long as I did. But I needed information and supplies, and that lab was the only place I knew I could get any. And when I went back, I was angry, so fucking angry for what they’d done to me. So I put Dr. Brubaker in that _fucking chair_ ,” Bucky couldn’t stop the grin, as sharp as his deadliest blade, from blooming across his face, “and I turned it on so he would know what it was like. He only lasted five seconds before he started screaming. Two minutes later, he couldn’t even scream anymore because of the blood and vomit in his throat. Three minutes after that, I blew his brains out. It was more mercy than any of them had ever shown me.”

 

“Did it help?” she asked when he was finally done.

 

“It did.”

 

“Then I’m glad you got to do it. You deserved to.” They were more similar than anyone could have known. Steve would understand his reasons, and possibly even agree with them, especially now. But there would have been no glee in it. Natasha, on the other hand, understood everything he was feeling and probably agreed with most, if not all, of it.

 

“And I am sorry Bucky,” she continued. “For a lot of things. But I didn’t know who you were, or that you were once a friend of Steven’s. You were just the Winter Soldier to me. Stupid of me, I suppose, since I am the Black Widow and we all come from somewhere. But you terrified me and I didn’t want to catch anymore of HYDRA’s attention than I already had, and risk them sending you after me.”

 

“I can understand that,” Bucky was able to admit.

 

“Thank you,” she nodded and then pushed her mostly empty coffee cup aside. “I know we’ll probably never be able to be friends after everything. But Clint speaks very highly of you, and I hope that if we can’t be friends, we at least don’t have to be enemies.”

 

“Your husband’s an amazing guy. He’s become a good friend,” Bucky said with a nod of his own. And even though she didn’t twitch nor give away the slightest hint of surprise, Bucky knew  she was shocked that he knew this about the two of them. But well, the Widow wasn’t the only one who had ways of ferreting out even the most well-kept of secrets, and Bucky still did have a few tricks up his sleeve. Let her think on _that_ the next time she wanted to try sneaking up on him. “He misses you when you’re away.”

 

“You bastard,” she laughed, conceding his point. “But I think I’ll be spending a lot more time at home from now on.”

 

“Good.” Bucky smiled and then paused. “And Stevie speaks very highly of you. So I don’t know Natasha, if we’ll ever be able to be friends. But I don’t think of you as an enemy, at least not anymore. As for the rest, only time will tell.”

 

“Yes,” she agreed. “I suppose it will.”

 

 

***

 

Bucky was on the roof, nearing the end of his fifth cigarette when Steve finally came home. His internal chronometer was off, and he had left his phone downstairs, but he assumed it must have been sometime after nine when Steve made his way onto the roof, still in the clothes he had worn when he’d left that morning, including his leather jacket.

 

“Hey,” Bucky said to him quietly as he approached.

 

“Hey.” Steve leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek. “Kinda cold out here Buck. You that desperate for a smoke?”

 

“How’d it go?” Bucky ignored his question and asked one of his own instead.

 

“It went,” Steve sighed as he pulled out the chair next to Bucky’s and sat down. Bucky said nothing, waiting for him to go on. “I mean, the Avengers are needed, and I’m willing to work with everyone else and do our jobs. Tony’s the one who seems to have a problem with that, but well, that’s Tony. He’s always been like that. I don’t think we’re ever going to be friends again, but I have no interest in breaking up the team. That’s up to Tony right now, so I guess we’ll see.” Bucky nodded and took another drag from his cigarette before he smothered it out in the ashtray.

 

“And Nick,” Steve went on with a scratch to his cheek. “He’s going to want to speak to you, and soon. I’ve put him off for now, but it’s coming. So we should probably start preparing for that.”

 

“Ah,” was all Bucky could say, turning his attention back to the moon and the stars.

 

“What about you? How was your day?”

 

 _Buddy, you have no idea_ , were the words that barely echoed in his head. He didn’t say them, so instead he answered with, “It was fine.”

 

“Do anything interesting while I was out?”

 

“Natasha stopped by for a visit.”

 

“Natasha…She was here?” Steve asked.

 

“Don’t worry Steve, I didn’t try to kill her.” Bucky considered whether or not he wanted another cigarette. “We just talked.”

 

“You just talked,” Steve repeated flatly, his phone chiming at that exact instant. He pulled it out and glanced down at the screen, frowning at the words he read. “She says she’s fine. But why is she telling me to make sure you’re okay?” Steve’s eyes narrowed as he watched Bucky decide he did need another smoke, his hand shaking as he reached for the packet. As Bucky lit it, he noticed that he had bitten his nails down to the quick. He stared at them for a minute, not remembering doing it. “Bucky, what happened?”

 

“Nothing much really. Like I said, she stopped by, and I made us some coffee and we just talked.”

 

“You just talked?” Steve asked, his voice filled with disbelief.

 

“Mm-hm.”

 

It was true, they had. Natasha only stayed for a few minutes more, until she decided it was time for her to leave. But right before she walked through their door, she had turned with a small, wrapped package held in her hand.

 

_“I meant it when I apologized for everything I did, and not coming back for you,” she said to him. “And I know nothing I do will probably ever be enough to make amends. But I hope this will be enough to let you know that I am very sorry for everything that happened to you, and if we can’t be friends, you’ll at least consider me an ally.” Bucky glanced down at the bundle for so long that she shook her hand, urging him to take it. “I’ve spent the last year and a half searching for this. It’s why I’ve been away so much. And it’s the last copy in existence. I don’t know how many other people know exactly what’s inside, but at least this way no one else will.”_

_Bucky slowly reached out and took the parcel, suddenly terrified as he had not been in so long._

_“They are going to come for you, you know. We may have done a lot of damage and revealed them to the world, but that only means they’ve buried themselves deeper. And you and I both know that when you cut off one head –“_

_“Two more grow to take its place,” Bucky finished for her._

_“Just so,” she nodded. “But at least this way when they do come, they won’t be able to use this against you. It will be on an even playing field. Especially since you have more resources than you did before.” And then she turned around, and just as silently as she arrived, she left._

 

“She gave me this,” Bucky said, nodding toward the red leather journal with a black star on its cover that he had dropped onto the top of the table and not touched once, since he had finally managed to crawl his way up to the roof, so he could have a smoke and try to remember how to breathe.

 

“What is it?” Steve asked, reaching for the journal.

 

“Reset codes.”

 

“What?” Steve asked, his hand freezing mid-air.

 

“Reset codes,” Bucky repeated. “Ten of them. Repeated in that exact order, they start a cascade that re-initializes all of HYDRA’s programming, wipes my memory, and makes me ready to comply with whatever command they want to give me.”

 

“Are you shitting me?”

 

“No Steve, I’m not.” Bucky shook his head. “All someone has to do is say those ten words, and I’ll forget everything that’s happened over the past three years. The house. Us. You. All of it. They say those ten words, and if they told me to, I’d put a bullet in your brain, and I wouldn’t even remember that…that…I love you more than anything.”

 

He could hear Steve’s heart, trembling as badly as his own hands were. And he knew that the cold was no longer bothering Steve, just as it had long since stopped bothering Bucky.

 

“Did you look?” Steve eventually asked.

 

“Of course I did,” Bucky laughed dryly. “I got through the first three before my nose started bleeding. And only four more after that before my brain felt like it was going to explode, and I ended up puking and passed out. Sorry about the mess in the kitchen, by the way. I’ll clean that up later.”

 

“Forget the fucking mess Bucky, why the hell would you do that to yourself?” Steve hissed.

 

“Because I had to know,” Bucky shrugged. “To see if they would work. They did. They do.” His head was still throbbing, an angry, vicious pulsing in his brain that left the rest of his body numb. But beneath that, in his cracks, that had probably been the only thing that allowed him to hold onto himself somewhere dark and deep, he was furious. Furious that it could still work. That ten simple words could erase the _everything_ of him. That HYDRA could still possess that control over him. That all of this could be reduced to _nothing_ if the wrong person said the right words.

 

“So, you know,” he jerked his chin toward the book, “you could get me to do anything you wanted if you read those words. You should probably put that someplace safe.”

 

Steve’s hand was resting on the cover now, his fingers drumming relentlessly over the black star in its center.

 

“It’s the only copy?” he eventually asked.

 

“According to Natasha,” Bucky said on an exhale of smoke. “And she’s usually not wrong about these things.”

 

“No, she’s not.” _Tap-tap-tap_ his fingers rapped on the leather surface, over and over and over again. Until finally he nodded.

 

“Right,” was all he said. Then he picked up the book in his left hand, reached for Bucky’s lighter with his right, and with an experienced flick, set the pages on fire.

 

He hadn’t even looked inside.

 

“That’s that then,” he said when there was nothing left but a few scattered ashes fluttering away on the wind. “Now come on, let’s get you downstairs and warm. I’ll make you something to eat, and then you can pick the movie we’ll watch while I brush your hair. It’s going to be a rough night, but we’ll get through it. We’ve done it before.”

 

“Thank you,” Bucky whispered, so in love with this man. It was no wonder he had practically crawled back from the dead simply because he had called Bucky’s name.

 

“You’re welcome.” Steve reached for his hand. “Now let’s get out of the cold, because I need to hug you and make sure you never forget that you’re mine.”

 

***

 

It was rough, but they did get through it. Because that’s who they were and that was what they always did.

 

***

 

Three days later, once Bucky was able to sleep through the night without waking up to the sound of his own screams, while Steve was in the shower, he found the bug Natasha had buried in the potted tree in their entryway. Laughing, he used his finger to push it deeper into the soil, leaving it there. The Widow had made her point.

 

And if she wanted to listen to him and Stevie have sex in the foyer, she was more than welcome to. There were still a few things left he could teach her after all.

 

And how to make Stevie scream was one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope wherever you are right now you're having a nice start to your week-end, no super-spies have snuck into your house, and if you're having a rough go of it, you have a lover/friend/relative/anyone whom you love and who loves you to help you through it right now. <3 <3 <3


	37. The Kitchen Table

If pressed, it would be hard for Bucky to say which room in the row house was his favorite.

 

There was the bedroom upstairs, that had been the first place, the only place, in such a long time where he had felt at home, safe, secure and comfortable. Carefully curated by Steve to be warm and welcoming, it had been his first shelter in over seventy-five years against the storms of his life and mind. And now that he shared it, and his bed, with Steve (and their four cats) it was even more sacred to him than it had ever been, the treasure chest of their life and love.

 

But Bucky had to admit he also really loved their kitchen too. So much had happened in this room; their first cup of coffee together, the first meal Bucky ever cooked for Steve, the second room Steve prepared particularly for Bucky the last time he left, in an effort to lure him back to another space that was warm and safe and welcoming. So many of the turning points in their lives had taken place in this kitchen, with its sienna tiles and turquoise blue stained cabinetry.

 

 And that goddamned white tiled kitchen table.

 

Where Steve was currently fucking Bucky’s brains out.

 

Steve had come home not too long ago, just as Bucky was putting away the last of the groceries from their weekly food delivery. At Nick Fury’s request and an act of good faith, Steve had headed into the city to provide a day’s worth of training to the newest recruits, to test their mettle and burst a few over-inflated egos. Bucky would have felt sorry for them, but it was a dangerous world out there, and if these newbies wanted to survive past their first month, they needed to know the types of challenges they would be facing. It was probably a bit unfair to have them face Steve, but well, Steve seemed to enjoy it and always came back with a couple of good stories he shared with Bucky while grinning.

 

He had been smiling when he walked through the kitchen door, after hanging his jacket in the closet, calling Bucky’s name. It was a brisk and rainy November day, and when Bucky turned to greet him, Steve’s cheeks were flushed from the cold and there were raindrops in his hair, a shimmering crown of golden starlight that sparkled beneath their kitchen lights.

 

Bucky had seen him there, in his black tac pants and tight fitting grey under-armor shirt, and everything else faded beneath the sudden and unstoppable wave of want and need and _have to have now_ suddenly roaring up within him.

 

It didn’t matter that Bucky himself was not currently looking his best, in an old, faded pair of blue jeans, and one of Steve’s rattiest hoodies. Because he knew Steve, knew himself and the type of power he had over him. All he had to do was cock his head slightly to the side and lick his lips while brushing a stray lock of hair behind his ear, when Steve suddenly stopped mid-word, the flush of his cheeks going darker, but nowhere near as dark as his eyes.

 

And then Steve was on him.

 

“I need you to fuck me Stevie, _now!_ ” Bucky barely had the chance to growl before there came the sound of cups and books and whatever else had been on the kitchen table crashing to the floor as Steve swiped the tiles clean with his arm before he was throwing Bucky onto its surface, lunging forward to devour Bucky’s lips with his own. Bucky would have laughed, would have purred, would have crowed with glee, except Steve never gave him a chance, because his tongue was in Bucky’s mouth, his hands in Bucky’s hair, and he was biting and licking and devouring Bucky as if Bucky was his Eden and his body the forbidden fruit Steve had hungered for all his life.

 

“Hurry!” Bucky hissed, somehow managing to free himself from Steve’s grip to reach for the belt buckle on Steve’s pants.

 

“Color?” Steve panted, because of course the shithead would ask when everything in Bucky’s body was practically bleeding his colors for the world to see.

 

“It’s green, you bastard. Now shut up and fuck me.”

 

Steve must have taken him at his word, because his skin was suddenly being kissed by the cool air of the kitchen, his nipples already tight, as Steve ripped the hoodie up and over his head, and then tore his pants and underwear off between one heartbeat and the next. Bucky hissed again, but this time from the cold of the tiles against his shoulders as Steve pushed him back down with a single hand to his chest, pinning him there while he cocked his own head, and took in his fill.

 

And there was something so sexy about that, so inexplicably arousing, to be held there, naked and exposed, while Steve stood over him, still fully dressed, except for his dick, rising proud and strong from the opened vee of Steve’s trousers where Bucky had freed it. Bucky felt glorious and uninhibited, not shy in the slightest, because he could see it, in Steve’s eyes, the same desperation and appreciation Bucky felt mirrored in his own. And Bucky knew there would be another gift somewhere in the house, a sketch hidden someplace secret and sacred, for him to find not too long after tonight.

 

But then the sonovabitch was taking a step back and turning away, leaving Bucky spread eagle and aching on their kitchen table.

 

“Where the hell are you going you dumbass?” Bucky snarled at him, wondering if any jury in the world would convict him for murdering the bastard for leaving Bucky in the state he was in.

 

“Lube,” was Steve’s answer as he frantically began to search through the cabinets.

 

“Fuck the lube, use spit.”

 

“I am not using spit.” Steve didn’t even bother to look over his shoulder as he answered.

 

“I swear ta god Stevie, if you don’t-“

 

“Shut up Bucky, just shut the fuck up!” Steve growled at him. But he must have found what he was looking for, because less than a second later he was back, shoving himself in between Bucky’s thighs, a bottle of olive oil clenched in his hand.

 

“Yeah, yeah, that’ll do,” Bucky gasped as Steve flipped open the cap and poured a generous stream into his palm. “Hurry Stevie, hurry, _hurryhurryhurry_ ,” Bucky began to chant, captivated as Steve ran his hand up and over his own dick, coating the head and tightened foreskin so the ruddy skin gleamed in contrast to the golden tones of Steve’s knuckles. Then he took his fingers, still slick, and slid two of them right into Bucky’s body, directly into his asshole without warning or his usual gentle coaxing, and all Bucky could do was moan his appreciation. Steve was usually so careful, so attentive when he did this; he had admitted that he loved to watch the way Bucky always melted under his ministrations. And Bucky had to admit that he usually loved to let him. There was something so soft, so seductive in letting Steve coax his body into doing whatever Steve wanted from him. But that was not what he wanted now, and his body already felt like it would implode if he had to wait even just another second. So he reached up, grabbed Steve by his shoulders and yanked him down, biting into his lip hard enough to draw blood when their mouths met.

 

“I don’t want soft. And I don’t want easy. I want you to fuck me so hard I feel it next week. Can you do that Stevie?” Bucky hissed into Steve’s ear, desperate, desperate, so goddamned motherfucking desperate.

 

“Yeah Buck, I can,” Steve answered, reaching for Bucky’s thighs, hitching them around his hips. “Now shut up and hold on.”

 

Then Steve took him at his word, and in one strong, breath-stealing thrust, gave Bucky everything he asked for.

 

And all Bucky could do was close his eyes and laugh. Because it was perfect, and glorious, and just what he had wanted the instant he had turned and seen Steve standing in their kitchen.

 

Their sex life was amazing. Bucky didn’t know if it was because of what the serums had done to their bodies; the heightening of their senses, their endless endurance, or miraculous recuperative abilities. They were evenly matched, the only two of them in existence in the entire world. Or if it was because in truth, they had always loved each other. Bucky sometimes wondered, if they had been brave enough, the world accepting enough, what their sex life would have been like if neither of them had gone off to war, been modified, changed in the ways they had, Steve still small and frail, and Bucky still broad shouldered and taller than most. He thought if they had been lovers back in the forties, their sex life still would have been just as intense. Different, yes, with other things they would have had to take into consideration, but just as passionate.

 

Because, and this was the truth of the matter, they had always loved each other, always wanted the other, even if neither of them had been brave enough to admit it out loud. But their love had survived, just like they had survived. Yet unlike their bodies, their love had never needed any scientific interference to make it even stronger than it had been. That had happened all on its own.

 

So together they could now share, and thrive and give to each other freely of their own flesh, without shame or inhibition or fear of discovery. And they did it often and they did it well. Bucky usually topped; it was still easier for him, and Steve was not shy when it came to admitting how much he loved feeling Bucky inside of his body. But as more time passed, and more and more of Bucky’s previous experiences were overwritten by these newer ones, blissfully sweet and almost drugging in their intensity, Bucky found himself wanting this more and more. It usually hit him like it did today, a sudden, searing need that only Steve could fulfill. Steve was always more than happy to comply, going above and beyond, and making absolutely certain to leave Bucky bubbling over in blissful satisfaction and contentment.

 

He was doing it now, giving Bucky everything he demanded, ramming relentlessly into him over and over on that goddamned motherfucking kitchen table that Bucky knew, after this, would be his favorite piece of furniture in the house. But he knew Bucky’s body, had mapped not only all of the pain it carried, but its deepest, darkest secrets, and how to whisper and coax them out of hiding, so all Bucky could do was surrender and let himself stretch out like the jaguar Steve said Bucky often reminded him of, with his belly in the sun while Steve stroked and caressed his skin until all he could do was purr.

 

So he didn’t just pound into Bucky, giving Bucky the fucking he so desperately craved, but he twisted and tweaked Bucky’s nipples. He shifted and rolled his hips, so that each stroke of his cock inside of Bucky’s ass came at him from a different angle, but never failed to hit that hidden cluster of nerves no one had ever been as able to accurately find as he did. He rolled his shoulders, knowing Bucky loved to feel the way the muscles of his back rippled beneath Bucky’s fingers as he clung to them. And then, and then, he clenched Bucky’s hair in his hands and pulled, so all Bucky could do was arch his neck, revealing the line of it to Steve, so he could lunge forward and sink his teeth in the vulnerable skin right above the pulse point, and bite.

 

_Hard._

 

That was all it took before everything inside of Bucky flashed white and his body exploded, without Steve even having to lay a hand on his dick.

 

“Oh god, I love that sound,” Steve was panting into Bucky’s ear when all his pieces had come back together into the web of skin and flesh and metal that was who he was when he wasn’t flying because of what Steve had done to him. The sound of his own laughter, a sound Bucky never knew he made when he orgasmed until Steve told him.

 

“It’s all for you sweetheart,” Bucky managed to rasp against Steve’s ear, relishing in the shivers those words sent coursing over Steve’s skin. And just like Steve understood Bucky’s body, Bucky knew Steve’s, and could tell he was close. It would just take a little more, the tiniest of nudges, to get him to fall from the same precipice Bucky had. Bucky had no intentions of leaving Steve behind. “Now come on, give it to me good. You know how much I love to feel your cum dripping outta my ass.” Then Bucky slid his hands underneath Steve’s shirt, up to his shoulders, digging his fingers into the skin before clawing them down Steve’s back.

 

And then it was Steve’s turn, Bucky the one making sure to hold him tight so Steve could fly and know there would be someone, ( _Bucky, Bucky, it was always going to be Bucky, from now until the end of time_ ) waiting for him when he got back.

 

Once it was over, the two of them nothing more than a combined pile of limp limbs and shivering, shuddering gasps, Steve lifted his head from where he had pressed it to Bucky’s collarbone (there was going to be another bite mark there, one Bucky would happily finger for as long as it lasted), and blinked down at Bucky once, twice, and then again.

 

“Hey Stevie.” Bucky somehow managed to lift his left arm so he could tuck a stray lock of hair behind Steve’s ear. “Welcome home.”

 

Steve snorted. “Gotta admit. It’s good to be back.”

 

“Course it is. All our food’s here.”

 

This time Steve laughed, and then leaned back in to press a kiss, soft this time, to the underside of Bucky’s jaw. “How you doing? You good?”

 

“Stevie, I am so good right now,” Bucky sighed happily. But then he paused, and took a second, rolling his own shoulders. “Although I gotta say, I don’t think the table’s ever gonna be the same.”

 

“Admit it, you fucking love this table,” Steve groused, but the laughter was still in his voice.

 

“Eh, it might be growing on me.”

 

“Jerk.”

 

“Punk.”

 

Steve snickered and pressed another kiss to Bucky’s neck before he leaned back.

 

“Okay, deep breath, I’m gonna pull out,” he said. In response, Bucky lifted his legs and tightened his thighs around Steve’s hips, locking him in place.

 

“Hey now, I didn’t say I was done with you yet.”

 

“Really Buck?” Steve arched an eyebrow at him. Bucky shifted his hips, and oh yeah, he definitely wasn’t the only one not ready to call it quits.

 

“Doesn’t feel like it’s just me.” Bucky reached up and draped his arms over Steve’s shoulders, clasping his hands together at the base of Steve’s neck, at the exact same time as he tightened the muscles of his inner body around Steve. Steve’s responding gasp was the only answer either of them needed. Bucky laughed.

 

“So what do you think Stevie?” Bucky tightened his arms, pulling Steve closer to whisper into his ear. “Do you think you can manage to carry me up to our bedroom just like this, so our bed doesn’t get jealous of the table?”

 

“Well, you know, I am Captain America after all,” was Steve’s response as he wrapped his own arms around Bucky’s waist, cradling his ass in his hands.

 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Bucky said, locking his ankles together at the small of Steve’s back.

 

“Now hold on Sarge.” Steve straightened, easily lifting Bucky from the table, his cock still hot and hard inside of Bucky’s body. “Let’s go see if we can break our own record.”

 

“Looking forward to it Cap.”

 

***

 

So yeah, if pressed, Bucky would have a hard time deciding which room in the house was his favorite. And if asked by anyone else but Steve, he would admit that he really fucking loved their kitchen table.

 

He was staring blearily at its tiled surface now, trying to remember if at any time last night they had gotten around to wiping it down, as he lazily made his way through a bowl of cold cereal while he waited for the pot of coffee he had started to finish brewing. They had indeed broken their previous record last night, and while he may not have gotten much sleep, he knew at some point they had stumbled into the kitchen for something to eat and to feed the Pizzas before they headed back upstairs for round eight, or had that been nine? Bucky had lost count sometime after their sixth, and he was still trying to remember if they actually cleaned the table, when there was a knocking at their door. Bucky groaned and decided he was going to ignore whoever it was. The knocking only got louder.

 

“Come on guys, open up,” Clint’s voice called. “We know you’re home. Let us in, it’s fucking freezing out here.” Bucky groaned again, rose from his chair, headed into the foyer and opened the door.

 

“Why are you here?” he grunted as first Clint and then Sam made their way inside.

 

“Why wouldn’t we be here?” Clint asked as he made his way to the kitchen, reached into the cabinets for his mug, and started to pour himself his own cup of Bucky’s coffee. Bucky was suddenly very nostalgic for the days when it was him alone in the house, and people didn’t feel free to just come and go as they pleased and steal his coffee.

 

“That, and since Steve said he was going to go home and pick you up so you could join us for dinner, we wanted to make sure you were both okay,” Sam added as he took the pot from Clint’s hand and poured himself a cup of coffee. Steve hadn’t mentioned that. But then again, Bucky never gave him the chance. He was sure they had ended up having the better night anyway.

 

“And we were bored,” Clint added cheerfully, bending over to pet both Sausage and Mushroom who had come over for their usual scritches. Meatball was curled up in the windowsill, soaking up the midmorning sun, and Pepperoni was nowhere to be seen. Bucky assumed she was sitting inside their upstairs bathroom, waiting for Steve to finish his shower and come out.

 

“That too,” Sam readily admitted. Bucky just grunted, sitting back down at the table, and resumed eating his cold cereal. “So where were the two of you last night?”

 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Clint asked as he made himself comfortable next to Bucky with his own bowl in hand. He reached out and yanked at the collar of Bucky’s shirt, revealing the love bite just beneath his clavicle. And then pointed to the one under his jaw. And laughed when he noticed the other one on the opposite side of Bucky’s neck just beneath his ear. And arched an eyebrow when he noticed the ring of bruises around Bucky’s right wrist, from where Steve had grabbed his arm and pinned him down during…was that orgasm six or seven? The clench had been perfect, not too tight, but just hard enough to tip Bucky over the edge yet again and Bucky was sure as hell going to miss those bruises when they were gone. “Jesus, no wonder they didn’t bother to answer their phones. Did you guys get any sleep last night?” Bucky grunted around another spoonful of cereal.

 

“I’m guessing that’s a no,” Sam said as he sat himself down and pulled the sugar bowl over so that he could stir some into his coffee.

 

“Hey Buck, I heard voices, is somebody here?” Steve asked as he finally made his way into the kitchen, Pepperoni at his feet. “Oh hey guys, what are you doing here? And please tell me that’s coffee I smell.” His question was met by silence, because he had come into the room wearing nothing more than a low slung pair of drawstring flannel pajama pants, and a towel over his shoulders that he was using to pat dry his hair. And it was now his turn to be ogled as both Clint and Sam took in the remaining evidence of exactly what he and Bucky had spent all of last night, and most of this morning, doing. There were the two hickeys on his own neck, the bite mark over his left nipple, the finger shaped bruises on the tops of his shoulders, and, when he turned around to get his own cup of coffee ( _the last damned one_ ) the scratch marks that ran down the entirety of his back. And that was not including the bite mark on his ass, the one on his inner thigh and the other hickey Bucky had left on the back of his knee.

 

“We were uh, just wondering what happened to you both last night,” Sam finally managed to say.

 

“Oh yeah that,” Steve said with an unapologetic shrug as he sat down at the table. “Something better came up.” He glanced around, noticing the mugs of coffee in front of both Clint and Sam, and the obvious lack of one in front Bucky and slid his cup over to him. And okay, Bucky loved this man, he really, really did.

 

“Multiple times apparently,” Sam muttered.  Steve just shrugged again, and rose to start brewing another pot of coffee.

 

“What can I say? Super serums. Enhanced endurance and zero recovery time.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Bucky nodded as he finally took his first sip of coffee.

 

“And we wanted to see if we could break our record.” Steve came back to the table with a box of Pop Tarts in his hand. Bucky couldn’t stand the things, but Steve seemed to love them.

 

“Uh-huh,” Bucky nodded again.

 

“Did we?” Steve looked at Bucky.

 

“Dunno,” Bucky shrugged. “Lost count after eight.”

 

“Huh. Was that the one in the bathroom or the hallway?” Steve asked.

 

“Please don’t answer that,” Sam cut in.

 

“I think that was the one on the stairs.”

 

“Ah, right, okay,” Steve said around a mouthful of Pop Tart.

 

“Oh god,” Sam moaned.

 

“So uh, I just gotta ask,” Clint ventured shamelessly.

 

“Please don’t,” Sam begged.

 

“The arm.”

 

“What about it?” Steve asked, turning a glare that matched Bucky’s as they both stared at him. Clint ignored it.

 

“Do you guys ever, you know, do that thing with it that Bucky does with Nina?” Clint went on, waving his hand at Bucky’s arm. “Because that would probably feel really fucking good.” It was suddenly so quiet in the kitchen you could have heard a pin drop. But Bucky noticed that while Sam may have not said anything, he was eyeing the both of them curiously.

 

“First off, that’s none of your goddamned business Clint,” Steve said as he rose from the table to grab his own cup of coffee.

 

“I was just curious –“

 

“And secondly, he’s got plates in his fingers. Those fuckers catch on the hairs, and it stings like a sonovabitch,” Steve added as he sat back down at the table.

 

“Uh-huh,” Bucky nodded. He slid the bowl of sugar in front of Steve. “But trimming helps.”

 

“Uh-huh,” it was Steve’s turn to nod. “A lot.”

 

“Really?” Clint asked. “How short?”

 

“Will you shut the fuck up?” Sam snapped.

 

“Wait a minute.” The look of curiosity on Clint’s face was suddenly replaced by one of horror. “Is that what you use the scissors in the medicine cabinet for?”

 

“What else would we use them for?” Bucky grunted.

 

“Ugh! I did not need to know that!”

 

“Then stop asking stupid fucking questions, you asshole.” Steve reached out and slapped the back of Clint’s head. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Bucky said for the umpteenth time that morning.

 

“Why are they even here?” Steve asked Bucky as Clint began to make gagging noises.

 

“Dunno,” Bucky shrugged. “I’m just trying to remember if we ever got around to wiping down the table last night.”

 

“Huh.” Steve squinted. “I can’t remember. Maybe?” Steve winked at Bucky, who winked back, as Sam started to make the same noises as Clint. Bucky thought they may have kept at it for the rest of the morning, if suddenly there wasn’t a second knock on their door.

 

“Oh god, what is it now?” Bucky groaned.

 

“I’ll get it, you sit,” Steve told him as he rose from the table and went to the door. “Hey Dewy. How’s it going?”

 

“Well hello there! I am suddenly feeling very patriotic this Sunday morning,” came Dewy’s rolling voice, followed by the _click-click-click_ of her heels as she made her way into the kitchen, Nina on her hip, Steve trailing behind her.

 

“Hey Dewy,” Bucky nodded at her as she approached, his arms already reaching out.

 

“Hey handsome,” she greeted him with a kiss to his cheek, and then handed Nina over, before looking down with a cocked eyebrow at Clint. Clint cleared his throat and got up, freeing his seat for her. She nodded, sat herself down and then bent over to unzip her boots, easily kicking them off before she leaned back and propped her feet in Bucky’s lap. “Everything good?” Bucky grunted at her.

 

“You’ll have to excuse him. He hasn’t had his morning coffee yet,” Sam explained just as Steve poured her one. Dewy leaned forward slightly, peering at Bucky’s face for a moment before she sat back with a small chortle.

 

“Do you think I’m stupid?” she laughed. “He doesn’t look like that because he hasn’t had his morning coffee yet. That’s the face of someone who had his brains fucked out last night.”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“Was it good?” she queried.

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

Dewy laughed again and glanced over her shoulder at Steve. “Good job.”

 

“I take pride in my work,” Steve grinned.

 

“And the rest of America thanks you for it,” she agreed, shamelessly running her eyes over Steve’s chest.

 

“Speaking of which, can you please go upstairs and put a shirt on?” Sam grumbled.

 

“Seriously,” Clint agreed.

 

“Said no straight woman or gay man in the world ever,” Dewy said as Steve rolled his eyes and turned around to head upstairs, Dewy catching a glance at his back, and the scratches Bucky had left there. “Well, it looks like Bucky wasn’t the only one who had his brains fucked out. Good job you.” She gave Bucky a high five.

 

“Why are you here?” he asked. “Everything okay?”

 

“Ugh, no. Mami, Delores and Damaras are at it again about the menu at the restaurant. The two of them want to start adding more American style breakfast foods, and Mami was pitching a fit. I decided to leave and head over here before World War Three breaks out,” she explained, reaching for the box of Fruit Loops on the table. “So, fair warning. You probably have about eight minutes before the little despot in training shows up for the same reason.” Bucky nodded and went back to eating his cereal.

 

Five minutes later, Steve returned to the kitchen, indeed wearing a shirt this time, (to both Bucky and Dewy’s dismay), and it seemed as if things had finally settled as they all clustered around the table, drinking coffee and eating breakfast. Dewy was just telling them about the latest bowling league match her team had participated in when there was a thunderous boom outside their street, in spite of the fact it was a bright and crisp morning. It was a testament to how much Bucky’s life had changed that he didn’t even flinch at the sound, merely rolled his eyes instead. Because of course, _of course_ , Thor would show up next.

 

“Thunder Bro’s here,” Clint said, rising to his feet to answer the door.

 

“I swear to god, if he woke up Nina I’m going to beat him to death with my shoes,” Dewy declared.

 

“Which ones?” Bucky asked, glancing down at Nina, who was thankfully still asleep.

 

“The red velvet platform ones, with the open toes,” she answered.

 

“Oh those are great. I love those,” Bucky said.

 

“Uh-huh,” Steve nodded from his side of the table just as Clint walked back in, Thor in tow.

 

“Greetings fellow teammates and friends,” Thor boomed happily once he laid eyes on everyone gathered in the kitchen. “And little Earth dragons.” He bent down and picked up Sausage and Mushroom, who were chirping happily at his feet.

 

“Our life is so fucking weird now,” Bucky grumbled with a roll of his eyes.

 

“It really is,” Dewy agreed. “But at least it’s not boring.”

 

“Boring is good. Boring doesn’t come to your house at ass o’clock on a Sunday morning and drink all your coffee,” Bucky said, just as Steve called out “Hey Thor. What’s up? What are you doing here?”

 

“Things have been going well on Asgard lately, and I thought I would take the opportunity to stop by and spend some time with my human friends,” Thor responded while Clint started to pour him a cup of coffee. “And what are you doing on this fine morning?”

 

“Dewy was just telling us about her latest bowling match,” Sam said.

 

“Ah, greetings Valkyrie Dewy,” Thor bowed his head slightly in her direction. “And this bowling, is this another one of those games where you humans spend inordinate amounts of time chasing a ball?”

 

“No,” Dewy rolled her eyes just as Thor sat down next to her in the seat Clint had evacuated. “It’s a game that involves strategy, skill and control, where you throw a heavy ball down a lane and try to take out as many pins as possible.”

 

“That actually does not sound so bad,” Thor grinned at her. “I think I would like to try this bowling. Would you be willing to teach me, Valkyrie Dewy?”

 

“Oh god no,” Dewy shook her head. “The last time I tried to teach anyone to bowl it was these two,” she waved her hand at Bucky and Steve, “and they ended up throwing the balls so hard they didn’t knock over the pins, they smashed them instead.”

 

“It was an accident,” Steve said sheepishly.

 

“And then they crushed the balls they were using.”

 

“You said they were heavy. They really weren’t,” Steve continued to defend himself.

 

“Really?” Clint asked gleefully from where he had planted his ass on their kitchen counter. Bucky thought they were going to have to start stocking up on a hell of a lot more bleach wipes than they had been.

 

“While at the same time destroying the gate on the lane we were using,” Dewy frowned at him. “I’ve never seen two men run out of anywhere as fast as these two once they realized what they’d done.”

 

“I offered to carry you,” Steve complained.

 

“It was in the middle of a game, I wasn’t going to give up the lane!”

 

“Bucky, help me out over here.”

 

“I got nuttin’.” Bucky didn’t even bother to look up from his bowl of cereal.

 

“Wait a minute,” Steve looked at Dewy with furrowed eyebrows. “I thought your bowling league nights were Thursdays, not Saturdays.”

 

“We switched them.”

 

“Why?” Steve asked just as Bucky began to wonder if he should do a repeat of that night, and flee from the house as quickly as he could, because he could already hear it, the _stomp-stomp-stomp_ announcing her arrival, and knew things were going to get even crazier in less than three seconds.

 

“That’s because Gus and his old lady Domme always get together on Thursday nights, and Bucky and tia like to watch them go at it from her bedroom window.” Make that two.

 

“ _What?_ ” came the echo of Steve, Sam and Clint’s voices.

 

“Hey Joey.” Bucky just gave up at that point; it was what it was, and it was obvious there would be no getting away from it.

 

“Hey Bucky,” Joey said with an exasperated sigh as she flopped down in the seat Sam had already evacuated.

 

“Oh shut up,” Dewy said to her niece. “It’s better than those K-dramas you always watch.”

 

“It’s _boring,_ ” Joey huffed.

 

“It was pony play. How is pony play boring?” Dewy challenged.

 

“What the hell is pony play?” Bucky heard Steve ask Sam.

 

“You do not want to know,” Sam answered.

 

“It’s when the old man lets the old lady put a saddle on him and shoves a horse’s tail up his ass while she rides him around the bedroom shouting _yee-haw._ ” Joey rolled her eyes at Steve.

 

“Don’t forget the cock cage,” Dewy sing-songed.

 

“I wish I could forget the cock cage,” Bucky mumbled.

 

“Wait, he had a cock cage on? I didn’t see that,” Joey protested.

 

“Be thankful,” Bucky shivered.

 

“That’s because you were using my old binoculars. The new ones I got for my birthday are so much better.” Dewy turned to Bucky and smiled. “Thank you for those, by the way. They were the best gift I’ve ever received.” Bucky smiled back at her.

 

“I know how to keep my ladies happy,” he said.

 

“Wait a minute!” Clint interrupted. “Are you guys saying that every Thursday night you get together to watch an old man and his old lady dominatrix have wild and crazy BDSM sex through Dewy’s window?”

 

“And eat pizza,” Dewy added cheerfully.

 

“The pizza’s the best part,” Joey said while Bucky nodded.

 

“I don’t know, I like her boots,” Dewy said. “Do you think she uses lube to get those on?”

 

“Do you think there’s any left after that butt-plug she shoved up his ass last week?” Bucky wondered.

 

“Dudes!” Clint cut them off again. When they turned to look at him, he had jumped down from the counter and crossed his arms, frowning at the three of them. “You’ve been watching a hot and kinky sex show from your window every week and you didn’t think to invite me? I’m fucking insulted!”

 

“Every Thursday night at nine thirty sharp,” Dewy told him.

 

“Bring snacks,” Bucky added.

 

“But no doughnuts,” Joey finished.

 

“Oh god no,” Bucky and Dewy both shivered.

 

“If I agree to bring some form of snack food as well, can I also join you at this viewing of the older person sex show? It sounds very entertaining,” Thor asked.

 

“What the hell is wrong with you people?” Sam and Steve asked simultaneously.

 

“What?” Dewy asked just as Joey countered with, “If they didn’t want us to watch then they should at least close their curtains.”

 

“Seriously,” Bucky mumbled.

 

“Still, that doesn’t mean-” Steve tried to argue.

 

“Are you talking about Gus and his Senora Ramona?” Lulu asked. And suddenly everyone fell silent as they all turned to stare at the matriarch of their clan who was standing in their doorway. When none of them answered her, she merely rolled her eyes and shook her head at them. “Really,” she went on as she made her way into the kitchen. “I agree with Bucky, no one needs to see that woman try to shove that man’s old, wrinkled balls into a cock cage. I preferred the shibari they did the other week. That had a certain grace to it.” She came up to Bucky and leaned over so he could press a kiss to her cheek.

 

“Hola Mami,” he smiled at her.

 

“Hola mijo,” she returned his smile, pushing a lock of hair behind his ear. Then her eye was caught by the bowl of cereal in front of him and she frowned. “De vera Bucky? Tu sabes mejor.” She glanced at Steve. “And you, Pop Tarts? Really?”

 

“Um.” Steve tried to hide said offending half eaten Pop Tart behind his back.

 

“Really,” Lulu rolled her eyes again. “The two of you are both over a hundred years old, and you’re eating that crap for breakfast? You should know better.”

 

“It’s been a bit of a crazy morning,” Steve tried to laugh it off.

 

“You’re telling me,” Bucky mumbled.

 

Lulu sighed and waved her hand in Steve’s direction, indicating that she wanted him to move. “Now get out of my kitchen. Since my oldest daughters are determined to destroy the business I built with my own two hands, I’m going to make the lot of you a proper Puerto Rican breakfast, and prove them wrong.”

 

And that was how the rest of the morning proceeded. She ushered them all into the living room, while she took over the kitchen, where Joey declared they were going to watch the latest episode of Attack on Titan which had just been released, Clint arguing with her why Tokyo Ghoul was better, and Sam and Thor took turns shamelessly flirting with Dewy. Every now and then Lulu would call out a question from the kitchen, asking Bucky “Donde esta tu chorizo?” or “Tu tiene arroz blanco, mijo?” or “Tiene mas huevos?” Bucky would either answer her, or go back into the kitchen, having handed Nina over to Steve so he could have a turn holding their favorite little girl, to get her what she was looking for, eventually deciding just to stay in there with her, so they could talk quietly as they usually did, while she showed him how to make his own sofrito, the most important ingredient in any Puerto Rican cook’s kitchen.

 

Until a little less than an hour later, they were all clustered in small groups either in the kitchen or living room. Clint was dancing in his seat as he always did whenever he was about to eat some of Lulu’s cooking, and Joey was explaining to Thor how the only way to east tostones for breakfast was to dip them in the egg yolk, while Sam asked Dewy question after question about her bowling league.

 

Bucky straightened from where he had carefully settled Nina down in the baby pen that had somehow found a permanent home in the corner of their living room, to find Steve leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, smiling at him.

 

“So what do you think Buck?” he asked with a glance at the group of people that had come together for a feast of food and love and companionship that bright November morning. “Maybe a dining room, with a nice table and chairs so we all have someplace to eat when company comes over?” Bucky rolled his eyes at him.

 

It was one of the last decisions left to be made about the house, and they still hadn’t managed to come to an agreement about what to do with the second room on the first floor. Steve wanted a proper dining room, with a big table and matching chairs, so there would be a place for all of them to come together and eat. He was still more social than Bucky at this point of their lives, and he loved the idea of having a space where they could entertain their friends and family, going so far as to start hinting that maybe this year they could host their own Thanksgiving or Christmas, something neither of them ever had the opportunity to do before.

 

Bucky had his heart set on turning the room into a library, envisioning walls lined with bookshelves and comfortable chairs, but no television. He wanted a quiet space where they could sit together and read, as they both loved to do, maybe even cuddling up together with their cats on their laps, where the only sound would be the turning of the pages of whatever book they were reading. Steve had no objections to that idea, and actually really liked it. But he thought they could use the second bedroom on the third floor, or even convert his office that he seldom used on the second instead, so Bucky could have his dreamed of study. It was a sticking point between them, and one they hadn’t managed to compromise on. So of course the bastard would use today to try and get his way.

 

But then Bucky turned around and took another look at everyone who had come to their row house that morning, not because they had to or didn’t have other places they could be. But simply because they liked it here, enjoyed spending their time where the both of them put so much effort into turning an abandoned and once unloved building into a home. They had worked hard, and it was a good space; safe, comfortable, inviting. It had felt to Bucky that way the very first time he had set foot in it, all of those months ago, when he had needed it more than he could have fathomed. Maybe it was okay to share that, just a little bit, from time to time, with those who sometimes seemed to need it as much as he had. And he did love these people, all of them, even Wilson. So perhaps he could give in, and let Stevie have his way, just this once.

 

But only this once. Captain Know-It-All really didn’t need for his head to get any bigger than it already was.

 

“Yeah, okay,” he finally admitted. “You can have your damned dining room.” Steve laughed and leaned forward, pressing a delighted kiss to Bucky’s cheek. “Ugh, geroff Stevie.” Bucky shoved him away. But if he was smiling as he went into the kitchen to get his own plate of white rice, fried eggs and tostones, no one but he and Stevie had to know the reason why.

 

***

 

Seventy-five years ago, happiness was a strange concept to Bucky. One he could remember, but hadn’t been able to feel in such a long time. It was strange to feel it again, to rediscover, whenever he pressed his hand to his chest, it there nestled warm and safe in his heart. It was a blessing and a grace, and one he wanted to make sure he carefully nurtured as the days went on and he continued to build this weird but wonderful life with Steve. But then he discovered something else, a new emotion he hadn’t felt in far too long, also nestled there in the core of his heart next to his happiness and endless love for Stevie.

 

_Hope._

 

And what a pleasant surprise that was. But one he was grateful for. He would cradle and care for it just as carefully as he did Nina, his family and friends, _Stevie_. Doing his best to keep it safe, and make sure, like so much of the rest of his life had once been, it would never be forgotten again.

 

So of course it was inevitable, with that new feeling nestled so preciously in his heart, that after three years, HYDRA finally decided to come for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember - it is illegal to shoot your friendly neighborhood fanficcer for cliffhangers. But comments on the rest of the chapter are more than welcome. =)
> 
> **whispers** Don't hate me **before rushing off to hide in her old friend, the bush**


	38. HYDRA

He was in the kitchen once more, a week after the impromptu brunch they had somehow ended up hosting, and again alone in the house. Steve was back at the Tower with the rest of his teammates, at Nick Fury’s behest, to run the greenies through another round of training, and Bucky was staring down at his phone, watching the latest Maru video that had been posted to YouTube while he brewed a pot of coffee, when he felt it. A shiver in the air that flicked up his spine like Death’s very own fingers, whispering in his ear that his time had finally, _finally_ run out.

 

It was the only warning he got, and it was by no means enough, but it gave him the fraction of a second he needed to flip the table onto its side, ripping free the two guns he had taped beneath its top, and duck behind it just as the windows exploded inward and a blast of fire rocketed through the kitchen, setting it ablaze.

 

Bucky flung the flaming table at the four men who stormed through the window ( _where the hell had they come from? He hadn’t seen any unfamiliar vehicles outside_ ), knocking them off their feet, and began firing at the eight men who were storming through the outside door. They fell like dominoes, one after the other, not a single shot missing its mark. But Bucky knew there would be more.

 

And he was right. Suddenly there was a swarm of them, piling in through the shattered windows and smashed door, while around him his kitchen, his home, his life burned. He could handle the burns, his body would heal from those, but he was going to run out of ammo, and there were only so many knives in the kitchen he could use.

 

But use them he did. He fired and he fought and he slashed and he punched. He was the Asset, their own creation, the Winter Soldier the name HYDRA used to terrorize their own members, and he would remind them why. Yet no matter how many he took down, more kept coming, a sacrifice HYDRA was willing to make in order to retrieve their most valuable weapon. And then…

 

And then…

 

He heard the first word.

 

_“Longing.”_

 

It made him shiver, made his nervous system stutter and flash, so that he hesitated, for less than a second before his brain began to shriek.

 

But it was not in submission; it was a roar of fury and refusal.

 

No. _No. NO! I. Will. Not. Go. Back._

 

And then the second word:

 

“ _Rusted.”_

 

No. _No. NO! I. Will. Not. Go. Back._

He refused, he denied. But this time it was enough to have him falter in his steps for more than a second, which was all they needed, because suddenly he was falling to the floor, an agonizing burst of pain and blood blooming from his hip, a direct hit to his acetabulofemoral joint. A debilitating wound, and for anyone else a killing one. But not for him.

 

And still he fought, firing the last of his bullets at the agents that continued to approach as he used every last bit of his strength and his one working leg to drag himself across the floor and to the panel where he would find the stash of guns he had hidden in case something like this ever happened.

 

Another shot. Another direct hit. Not with a bullet this time, but a dart that released its numbing venom into the base of his spine.

 

“It’s not stopping,” he heard one of them hiss in Russian.

 

“It does not matter,” another voice coolly responded. “It will survive anything except a bullet to its brain. Take it down.” And then, and then;

 

“ _Furnace_.”

 

No. _No. NO! I. Will. Not. Go. Back._

 

Bucky dragged himself over the floor as the bullets rained down upon him, one bouncing off of his left shoulder, another burying itself in the back of his thigh, followed by a second dart at the base of his neck. And still, and still, he pulled himself along the floor.

 

“ _Daybreak_.”

 

No. _No. NO! I. Will. Not. Go. Back._

 

But he was growing dizzy, and weaker, and they _just. Kept. Coming._ He was not going to make it, and Steve, his Stevie was not going to come back to find Bucky waiting for him with open arms and a kiss that said _Welcome home_ and _I missed you_ and _I love you_. And it would kill him. And that, _that could not be borne._

 

So Bucky made one last choice. One last decision before all of it, all of it was once again taken from him and there would be nothing left. Instead of reaching for the panel and the guns he knew now would not be enough, he lifted his phone, that he had somehow managed to hold onto with his left hand, and made one last desperate phone call.

 

“Make it stop!” Came the order as the clay pot where that stupid tree Thor had given them as a housewarming gift exploded in a cascade of dirt and pottery right above his head.

 

And then, and then: “ _Seventeen._ ”

 

No. _No. NO! I. Will. Not. Go. Back._

 

“Hey Buck, what’s up?” Steve’s voice happily chirped over the line. If it was the last time Bucky ever heard it, he would carry the happiness in it with him to his grave.

 

“ _Steve…House…HYDRA…Help._ ” Was all he could gasp before he dropped the phone as another wave of pain bombarded his body.

 

And then, and then: “ _Benign._ ”

 

No. _No. NO! I. Will. Not. Go. Back…Please…Please…no…_

Dirt and his own blood on the floor, his clawed hand, everywhere, everywhere, his hair, his face.

 

Then he was being rolled over, staring up into pale grey eyes and a face surrounded by icy blond hair that sneered at him.

 

“Ah, little lost lamb, we have finally found you. You have caused us enough trouble already. It is long past time for you to come home.” Bucky tried to lift his left arm, to reach for a throat he knew he could crush. But it was heavy, so heavy and weak, easily batted aside. “Now none of that.” The stranger leaned over, a thick and heavy syringe in his hand, that he plunged into Bucky’s neck at the exact same time that he said, “ _Nine_.”

 

_No…No…No…I will not…_

 

Steve’s voice screaming his name was the last thing he heard before the darkness came. And then, there was nothing at all.


	39. Stevie

It was the worst phone call he had ever received; the most horrible words he had ever heard.

 

_Steve…House…HYDRA…Help._

 

And for an instant, just an instant, Steve was once again in the Alps, clinging to the side of that train, desperately reaching out his hand, only to helplessly watch as Bucky fell to his death.

 

Bucky hadn’t even screamed.

 

But Steve was screaming now, screaming Bucky’s name over and over again, even as the line went dead and there was nothing but silence.

 

_No. No. No. NO._

 

“Steve! What the hell is going on? What it is?” It was Sam’s voice and his hand gripping his shoulder that cut through the litany of agony in Steve’s brain and tore him back into the now. He was no longer hanging from the side of that train, trying to reach past time and death, but in a bright white hallway, staring at the concerned faces of Sam, Clint, Maria and Natasha.

 

“It’s Bucky,” Steve croaked, allowing himself that one last gasp, one final unfallen tear of weakness, before he pulled himself from Sam’s hold and tore down the hallway. “HYDRA came for him. They’re at the house. He needs my help.”

 

_Not again. Not again. NOT AGAIN._

 

But…

 

But.

 

This time he was not alone. This time there were others with him; not the Howling Commandoes, but a team just as strong, just as fierce, and one of their own was in danger.

 

“Right,” he heard Clint say from somewhere behind him, and he must have done something, because suddenly the entire building was blaring with the Avengers assemble klaxon.

 

“Everybody suit up and get to the Quinjet,” Maria’s voice, cool, calm, implacable as always, but she too joining this battle.

 

“Bruce, Wanda, we’ve got a situation. There’s been a HYDRA attack in Brooklyn, and we need all hands on deck ASAP. We’re probably looking at severe injuries, so Bruce bring your medkit,” Sam was saying as they ran into the waiting elevators, whose doors shut and began to ascend as soon as they were inside.

 

And then…

 

And then…

 

“Oh, you smart sonovabitch,” Natasha murmured quietly, with a shake of her head as she stared down at her phone.

 

“What’s going on Natty?” Clint asked.

 

“I’ve got him Steven.” She lifted her head and turned her gaze to Steve. And of all things, at this, of all times, she was smiling.

 

“What?” Steve gasped.

 

“I’ve got his location.”

 

“ _How?_ ” Steve’s knees were suddenly weak, as weak as they had once been when he and Bucky were eight and nine years old, and they had been running through a park. Steve hadn’t wanted to call out, to admit to Bucky he needed to stop, that it was too much, and it was impossible for him to take another step. But Bucky had known. Bucky had always known, and without Steve needing to say a word, he stopped, turned around and took Steve’s outstretched hand into his own, and led him to a warm patch of sunlight on the grass, where together they lied down, and Bucky spent the rest of the afternoon pointing up at the clouds and making up story after story about pirate ships and sea monsters until Steve had finally been able to catch his breath. His hair as brown as the endless embrace of earth beneath their backs, his eyes as blue as the sky they stared up at, and his presence as bright and as warm at Steve’s side as the sunlight pouring over them. _Bucky._ As he had always been and would always be to Steve.

 

“When I went to your house, and we had our talk, I planted a bug in the tree in your hallway. He knew it was there. I knew he knew it was there. It was a bit of a joke between the two of us.” There was no regret in her voice, only a gentle softness and a warm amusement. “But your Bucky, he’s always been the best at what he’s done. And he knows tricks none of us would ever think of. He must have gotten to it somehow and hidden it on his body somewhere. Because it’s giving me a live transmission of his exact location. Even now.” She lifted her hand and held up her phone so Steve could see it. And there, in front of Steve’s very eyes, was a map, with a blinking light, that was heading west.

 

“But they’re moving him,” Natasha went on. “And it won’t take them long to find the bug. We don’t have much time.”

 

“Right.” It wasn’t Captain America who spoke the words. Or even Steven Grant Rogers. It was _Stevie_ , Bucky’s Stevie, and he was by far the most dangerous and deadly of all three. “ _Let’s go._ ”

 

***

 

It didn’t take much time before they were airborne and on the move. And it didn’t take long, while Maria piloted the Quinjet using the feed from Natasha’s phone to guide her, to suit up in their gear and double and triple check their weapons. And it wasn’t much longer before they were beginning their descent at a secluded air strip at the back of a privately owned mansion somewhere in the middle of New Jersey. But for Steve, every second, every breath was an infinity too long.

 

But for the HYDRA forces who were already waiting for them, it would never be long enough.

 

It was a large strike force, (something in the back of Steve’s mind calculated sixty-three agents), and they were waiting and well prepared. Two thirds of them broke off and began firing at the Quinjet with guns, lasers and even a missile launcher, while the remaining third held their formation around a forklift carrying a metal crate ( _a casket, a goddamned motherfucking casket, that would haunt Steve’s nightmares for the rest of his life_ ) wrapped in chains toward a waiting jet.

 

They were waiting and they were well prepared. But Steve and his team were the Avengers, and the Avengers were the best, _the very fucking best_ , and HYDRA had made the mistake of coming for one of their own.

 

Maria was an excellent pilot, and she easily avoided HYDRA’s volleys, while by her side Natasha retaliated with shots of her own, that never missed and left a web of death in their wake, as the Quinjet grew closer and closer to the ground, the hatches already opening.

 

Steve was running by the time his feet hit the hard packed earth, his shield having already taken out three of them before he reached up, caught it in his hand, spun and threw it again.

 

Later, much, much later, he would be grateful for the friends who had come and rallied by his side. Clint’s arrows flew, one after the other in a deadly stream that never seemed to end. From above, Sam released a hail of bullets that left no one in his wake standing. Wanda, another victim of HYDRA, whose hate of them could ( _almost)_ rival Steve’s own, was using her fire and her magic to rip them apart. And Bruce, (who Steve had wanted Bucky to meet next, thinking the two of them would get along), had let the Hulk out to play, and the Hulk was smashing and stomping and giving free reign to all of his rage, wreathing a path of destruction in his wake.

 

But later, much, much later, even Steve’s friends would have to admit their presence had not been necessary. Because it was Steve who tore through them, and left no survivors to whisper prayers over the corpses who fell at his hands.

 

It was over seventy-five years of it. Seventy-five years of rage and tears and Bucky screaming for mercy. Seventy-five years of a cryo-tank, and torture, and rape, and ripping his brain apart to tear his memories from him. It was seventy-five years of a metal arm, and reset codes, and starvation, and Bucky, what little was left of him, hidden in the dark, begging for someone to come for him. And seventy-five years of no one answering.

 

But this time Steve answered him. And this time, no one was going to get in his way.

 

So he flung his shield and punched through bone and ripped through flesh. He kicked and remembered to keep his stance loose, and flung the knives he started to carry with a deadly precision that could have rivalled Bucky’s own, some part of him laughing at the irony of the skills that had been cut into Bucky’s flesh being used to take his tormentors down. He fought and he struck and he killed and he felt not a single ounce of regret, until there was no one left except the forklift driver and a scarecrow of a man with grey eyes and ghostly white hair standing in front of it.

 

“Tell him to lower it.” The ice in Steve’s voice was colder than the man’s placid gaze and as deep as the tomb that had held Steve frozen for seventy years, waiting for just this moment.

 

“He’s gone, you know,” the man answered calmly in a voice heavily accented with Russian. “We reset him and it’s all gone. There is nothing left of the man you knew. We created him and he will always be ours. No one ever escapes from HYDRA.”

 

“You’re wrong. He’s stronger than that. He’s always been stronger than that. And you may have been able to hurt him, but you were never able to destroy him. And he’s not yours. _He’s mine._ He’s always been mine. And I’ve come to take him home. Now,” Steve took a step forward, “tell him to lower it.”

 

“Stupid man. Do you think–“ And that was the last word he ever said, before the knife Bucky had given Steve as a gift when he was finally satisfied with his knife-work lodged itself in his throat.

 

The forklift was already lowering when Steve blinked, the knife somehow again in his hand, the driver staring at him through the glass with eyes wide with fear. Then even that was gone as the man slumped forward, an arrow piercing his throat, his blood splattering the windshield, before it lodged itself in the inside of the door on the opposite side.

 

And then both Clint and Steve were reaching for the container, that coffin of metal and chain, that held within it the greatest treasure of Steve’s life.

 

“Oh Jesus, they weren’t fucking around,” Clint said as he took in the myriad of chains wrapped around the padlocked container of steel and iron and who knew what else. “Stop tossing that guy around like he’s a Barbie, Hulk! We need your help over here!” he called over his shoulder.

 

“Get out of my way,” was all Steve said as he shouldered his way past Clint.

 

“Steve, hold on a sec man,” Clint tried to stop him. “They sealed that shit tight. Not even you…” Then his voice faded away. Because Steve had stepped forward, his arms reaching out until his hand met the nearly invisible seam of the lid in between a sliver not covered by chains, his fingers digging into the crack.

 

And _pulled_.

 

With a screech of metal and the cracking of iron, the lid was torn away and Steve was looking down at the face of his beloved.

 

Bucky’s eyes were closed, his skin grey. His hair was a mess, and they had wrapped his body in even more chains, a Medusa’s nest of them, surrounding his arms, his legs, his torso. And he was covered, every inch of him that Steve could see, in his own blood.

 

He looked dead, perfectly, perfectly still as he lay there; Snow White in his coffin of chains instead of glass, and who knew what poisons were lodged in his throat.

 

“Bucky, oh god, _Bucky_.” Steve reached out to touch his cheek, his hand coming away tacky with Bucky’s blood. And for the first time ever, Bucky didn’t answer him when he called. “Please Bucky, _please._ ”

 

“Steve, back up.” Clint’s hand was on his shoulder, trying to pull him back. Steve would not be moved.

 

“Move Cap, let us help him.” It was Sam next, but still, _but still_ , Steve could not stop staring.

 

“ _Steven._ ” It was Natasha’s voice that cut through the haze, or was it tears, blurring Steve’s vision. “You have to step aside. He needs medical attention. We have to get him out of here. Get out of the way. _Now._ ”

 

Steve lifted his head, the tears burning his cheeks as he looked around him for the first time since they landed, to see everyone but Maria gathered around him, all staring at him in concern.

 

Then two thunderous steps boomed through the night, breaking the silence as the Hulk came forward, a hand heavy enough to crush cars and lay waste to cities landing on Steve’s shoulder. Steve stared up into glowing green eyes that blinked back and refused to let him go.

 

“ _Help_ ,” the Hulk growled at him through gritted teeth. When Steve finally swallowed and nodded, the Hulk returned the gesture, and stepped forward, lifting the sarcophagus that held Steve’s heart as easily as if it weighed no more than a feather. And then the Hulk turned and ran toward the Quinjet, where Maria was waiting for them, Steve less than half a step behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **leaves on bush rustle** Is it OK for me to come out now?


	40. The River

Pain. Pain. So much pain.

 

He was tired of being in so much pain.

 

Earthquakes in his bones. Fire in his veins. Thunder in his nerves.

 

So much, too much, and Bucky wanted nothing more than to curl away from it, escape within the deepest, darkest shadows, to the place he had always been able to find when he had first discovered that hell was not a place, but the prison of his own body, and hide away forever, until it stopped.

 

But the pain would not let him go. And the shadows he had once been able to find kept eluding him, and Bucky knew that it was going to start all over again.

 

Except there, just there, where those shadows used to be, a softness that hadn’t been there before.

 

And a sound, calling to him, that he had never been able to not answer. Another heartbeat, reaching for his own.

 

So he struggled and fought to not drown in the darkness, because he had to answer that call, and pushed the shadows away.

 

Bright. Too bright, the world that greeted him when he cracked his eyes open. The sound of beeping, and the feel of air being forced down his throat. And still the pain, the endless agony of it ripping his body apart, making him want to cry and beg and do anything anybody asked of him, if they would just make it stop.

 

But…

 

But.

 

Softness too.

 

At his back, and beneath his head. A weight, steady but gentle on what Bucky thought may have been his abdomen. And silk beneath his fingers.

 

He must have made a noise, or twitched, or given some sign to his captors that he was awake, because there came the sound of a soft gasp and shuffling from his side.

 

And then a face was looking down at him, older, female, with grey streaked black hair, and warm dark-brown eyes. Those eyes were drawn and filled with tears, but she was smiling at him.

 

And…and he _remembered_ her.

 

“ _Mami_ ,” he tried to say, but the word would not come. It got caught in a throat that was swollen and sore, cut from within by razor blades he could not remember swallowing. But she was his mother, and she must have heard, because her smile grew even wider.

 

“Si mijo, si,” she whispered back, gently pressing a hand that was cool and dry to his cheek. “Oh thank god Bucky, thank god.”

 

Bucky blinked and tried to look around, but even that was too much for him. And there was still that weight on his skin, still that call he had not been able to resist, but not yet answered, and he needed to find it before he could rest.

 

So he searched and he reached and he fought through the pain until he found it, using the very last bitter drop of his strength to look down. And there, there it was.

 

Golden hair beneath his fingers, the softness he had felt. And a head resting on his stomach, the weight against his skin. The closed eyes of a face beloved and dear, that he had always known and could never forget. Steve, his Stevie, asleep and waiting for him, always waiting for him, like he had for the entirety of their lives.

 

“ _Stevie._ ”

 

“Si,” his mother told him, her fingers cool but soothing in his hair. “Your Stevie. He hasn’t once left your side.” Bucky could only blink at her, because the darkness was again coming for him, and he was too exhausted to resist it any longer. His mother must have seen, because she smiled at him again, leaning forward to press a kiss to his forehead, her hand resting over his own on Steve’s hair. “It’s okay mijo, it’s okay. You’re safe now. Go back to sleep. It’s okay. We’ll be waiting for you when you come back.”

 

Knowing it was true, that they would be waiting for him, Bucky closed his eyes, and let the shadows come.

 

***

 

When he next woke, it was to a low noise, soft and familiar, but far too far away. Songlike in its susurrance, at first it made no sense to him as he tried to find the source somewhere beyond the horizons of slicing pain he felt. Consistent and steady, a constant that never faltered as the noise transformed into a voice, and the voice into words.

 

_Do you remember the summer your da somehow managed to get you a bike, Bucky? You were ten, eleven maybe, and you learned how to ride it in less than a day. You spent two weeks trying to teach me, but I wasn’t strong enough back then. But you refused to give up until I fell and sliced my elbow up real bad. My ma nearly had a heart attack and threatened to keep us separated for a week. You spent the rest of the summer peddling around our neighborhood with me on the back of that bike, and you never once complained. We went everywhere together. It was one of the best summers we ever had._

And…

 

_Do you remember the O’Shea twins? What were their names? Shelly and Susan I think? You had the biggest smile on your face when Susan finally agreed to let you take her to Coney Island. But you would only go if Shelly agreed to go with me. Susan had laughed and said why would her sister want anything to do with a scrawny little nancy boy. The look on your face when she said that. I thought you were going to punch her right then and there. But you just turned around and walked away, and we went to Coney Island together instead. You never spoke to her or her sister again after that._

 

And…

 

_I hate raisins. I fucking hate them, always have. I used to curse whenever they showed up in our rations during the war. You would just roll your eyes at me, and switch them out for your chocolate bar, even though you hate them more than me. And you never said a single thing about it, just gave me your chocolate, and ate those damned raisins, even though they make you gag._

 

And…

 

_I never knew Thai food even existed. Or that Chinese food was more than Mu Shoo Pork. Or that Poke Bowls were a thing until you started taking me to all these places and making me try all this different food. I’ll tell you a secret too. I’m even starting to like that goddamned Bustelo of yours. And I never would have known all these things existed, that there was so much spice in the world, if not for you and the way you always want to try new things._

 

And…

 

_I love you James Buchanan Barnes. I have loved you ever since we was kids and I will always love you. Please Bucky, please. Please come back to me…_

 

That voice, that voice, singing to him. It was enough to pull Bucky from the endless rivers of pain his body had become, and reach for that distant, distant shore. Where a lone figure stood, staring out into the water, waiting for him, calling his name.

 

And so he answered, “Stevie.”

 

A gasp in the dark. Hands, that he realized were holding his, tightening. And then a face, blue eyes bloodshot, a scraggly beard growing on his chin, and pale, pale, too pale skin, staring down at him. The most beautiful face in the world, the endless wonders of it forever etched into the fabric of Bucky’s mind, his heart, his very soul.

 

“Bucky?” Steve whispered.

 

“ _Ss okay Stevie, ss okay_ ,” Bucky breathed out. It wasn’t, and maybe it never would be again. Everything, _everything_ hurt. But the pressure in his throat was gone, and the razors that had been lodged there were no longer razors but needles this time. The softness he could remember from before was still there, a cradle around his aching body. But so was Steve. And no matter what, no matter what hell he was in, or how loudly his body shrieked and roared at him, as long as his Stevie was there, by his side, that made it better, bearable, easier for Bucky to fight for another breath.

 

“Oh my god Bucky. _Bucky._ ” Steve’s hands were on his face then, gently cupping his cheeks. And Bucky thought he may have heard another voice murmuring and the sound of movement from not too far away. But all he could do, all he had the energy for, was to stare up into that face that he knew, had always known, even better than his own. There was fear there, in Steve’s eyes, a terror so unfamiliar to that face it was almost ( _almost_ ) ghastly. And then Steve spoke again.

 

“Do you remember me Bucky?”

 

Bucky felt himself frowning. If he wasn’t in so much pain, he would have rolled his eyes.

 

“’Course,” he barely rasped. “Stevie.”

 

“Oh thank god, thank god.” And suddenly Steve was sobbing, all that made him who he was collapsing within, as he lowered his face and pressed his face against Bucky’s neck. “He said he wiped you. Did a reset and that you wouldn’t remember anything, that you wouldn’t remember me, and oh god Bucky, oh god, I was so scared, so scared that you wouldn’t.”

 

“ _Ssh Stevie, ssh. Ss okay…”_ It was getting harder and harder to speak. And the river, it was getting louder, its roars calling him back to its depths, to the shadows he needed to return to for just a little while longer.

 

But his Stevie had needed him, and so he had come.

 

And then he was struck by another thought, another hook in his brain that pulled; a question whose answer he needed before he would be able to again close his eyes and rest.

 

“Pi..zzas…” he gasped, because he needed to know.

 

“Is he hungry?” Came the question from not too far away. It was low and female, whiskey-kissed, and he thought it was another voice he loved, even if he couldn’t remember who it belonged to just yet.

 

“No.” There was the smallest laugh in Steve’s voice, shivering and weak, but it was there, and it was enough, it was more than enough for Bucky to let go. “He’s asking about his goddamned cats.” Steve lifted his head from Bucky’s neck. And already, already, Bucky could see the change in him. “They’re fine Bucky, they’re fine. Meatball’s ear was singed, but otherwise he’s okay. They’re all okay. We moved them to my old apartment for now, and Thor’s been taking care of them.”

 

“’Kay.” Bucky closed his eyes. It was time for him to go. It would just be for a little while, and he would be back, but he couldn’t stay here any longer. “Sleep…now…Stevie…”

 

“Okay Bucky, okay,” Steve told him. “Go back to sleep. It’s okay, you’re safe now. Go back to sleep. I’ll be waiting for you when you wake up.”

 

The last thing Bucky felt before the darkness again wrapped him in its sweet embrace, was the press of Steve’s lips, tender and soft, to his forehead. And then he felt nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **more rustling of leaves** OK, can I come out NOW?


	41. Kintsugi

The third time he woke, it was both easier and harder. Easier to open his eyes and look around the room, and harder, because even though everything still hurt, still burned, each breath a painful tearing in his chest, his body did not feel as though it was his own.

 

But Steve was there, just like he’d promised, because as soon as Bucky opened his eyes, he was looking up into a smiling face, while Steve gently ran his hand through Bucky’s hair.

 

“Hey,” Steve said softly. Bucky opened his mouth to respond, but found he couldn’t. His lips, his mouth, his throat, felt cracked and dry, bones and dust and desert sands clotting his words. But Steve was watching, could tell, and already reaching for something. If he could have, Bucky would have kissed him when Steve slid the small ice chip into his mouth, its icy drips smooth and soothing as they melted on his tongue. “Better?” Bucky swallowed, nodded and then parted his lips so Steve could feed him another one.

 

“How are you feeling Buck?” Steve asked after the fourth ice chip.

 

“Tired,” Bucky admitted. “Hurts.” It was still hard for him to form words. Everything felt blurred, still too far away, and he had to fight for even this much.

 

“Yeah,” Steve sighed, putting the cup he had been holding down someplace Bucky couldn’t see. “It’s going to be like that for a while.” He came back, taking Bucky’s right hand into his own, cradling it in both of his palms gently. “They did quite a number on you Buck. It’s going to take a long time for even your body to heal. But it’s doing it. Both Bruce and JARVIS are shocked at how fast you’re healing. The biggest problem right now is making sure you get enough calories so your body can do its job. Even so, it’s still going to take a while. But given enough time and rest, everyone here agrees you should make a complete recovery.”

 

“Too many words,” Bucky mumbled.

 

“Sorry.” Steve pressed a kiss to the palm of Bucky’s hand.

 

“Hurts,” Bucky said again.

 

“Sorry.” Steve went to let go of his hand, but Bucky tightened his fingers. Even that sent flares of pain up his arm and down his spine, but he didn’t want Steve to let go. Not now and not ever again.

 

“Not you,” he was able to say. “Everything else.”

 

“’Kay.” Steve’s hand was so warm around his, and where it was making contact with Bucky’s skin really was the only part of his body that didn’t hurt. “I’ll tell the docs to up the painkillers. They were worried about the dosage, but if it’s bothering you enough that you’re complaining about it, it’s nowhere near high enough.”

 

Bucky closed his eyes again and nodded, grateful, grateful, so damned grateful that Steve was here with him. That meant…That meant…

 

“Safe?” he suddenly needed to know. Because the memories were starting to come back, all of them, and the last thing he remembered was the house, and bullets, and reset codes, and a man saying them, and they had come for him, they were going to take him back, and, and, and…

 

HYDRA.

 

“Yeah Bucky, yeah. You’re safe now, you’re safe, I swear to you, you’re safe.” There was a beeping in the background that was growing louder and louder, its pace increasing, and it wasn’t helping, it was only making it worse. “Calm down Bucky, calm down. You’re in the medical bay of the Avengers Tower and you’re safe now. You’re safe. I promise you. No one is coming for you. _No one._ I swear it to you Bucky, _I swear it._ ”

 

Maybe it was the words that finally pierced what even Bucky could recognize was his rising panic. Or maybe it was the fact that if this had been a HYDRA base, no one would have thought to take the pain he felt into any consideration. Or maybe it was because Steve was there with him, by his side, holding his hand, and he was the one who was making the promises. And Steve…Steve…

 

Steve had never once, in the entirety of their lives, ever lied to him.

 

So Bucky could let go of his fear, let go of his terror, and believe. Because Steve was there, and Steve would never let anything bad happen to him.

 

“’Kay,” he said again, placing himself in Steve’s hands. Steve was the strong one; he would keep Bucky safe. He was going to fall asleep again, the panic having used up all the energy he’d been able to gather around him when he woke this time. But there was still something, one last thing that needed to be said, before Bucky could relax and let go so his body could do what it had been designed to.

 

“Love you Stevie,” he whispered as his eyes closed.

 

“Love you too Bucky. More than anything,” Steve told him just as softly. “Now go back to sleep. It’s okay. You’re safe. I’ll watch your six while you do.”

 

Believing him, knowing it was true, that was exactly what Bucky did.

 

***

 

Time slipped by in a blur for a while after that.

 

Bucky didn’t know if it was hours, days, weeks or even months that passed each time he opened his eyes. Only that there long periods of sleep that were deep and dark and dreamless, interspersed with brief periods of lucidity where every time he opened his eyes, someone else was smiling down at him.

 

It was Clint once, he was certain of that, his hair mussed, and his grey eyes, usually filled with laughter and a sense of mischief that matched Bucky’s own, wide and worried.

 

“Please don’t hit me again,” Bucky thought he may have mumbled.

 

“Nah B-man,” Clint said. “You’ve had more than enough of that in your life already. No more from now on.” And then to his surprise, Clint leaned forward and pressed a kiss that was kind and full of its own bonds of brotherhood to Bucky’s forehead. Bucky fell back to sleep with its warm imprint lingering in his dreams.

 

Another time it was Thor who was there when he opened his eyes.

 

“You cut your hair,” Bucky heard himself say. Thor smiled and laughed, but it lacked all of his usual good humor and boisterousness.

 

“I did,” he agreed gently.

 

“Why?”

 

“That is a story for another day, and that is not why I am here,” Thor answered.

 

“Then why?” Bucky asked again.

 

“Because I heard what had happened to you, Bucky Barnes, and I needed to see for myself that you were all right.”

 

“’M fine.”

 

“No, you are not. But you are getting there. And the seers on my world tell me that this is the last of it. And that gives me great hope.”

 

“You’re weird,” Bucky sighed. “But tha’s okay. Like you like that.”

 

This time Thor did laugh. “Thank you friend Bucky. I like you as you are as well. Now sleep and heal. Your little Earth dragons are worried and miss you. They want you to come home. We all do.”

 

Bucky didn’t need to be told twice. But as he slipped away, it was to the feeling of a big hand, always surprising in its ultimate gentleness, running its fingers through his hair.

 

Another time he opened his eyes to see the beautiful face of the Widow, ( _no, not the Widow, but Natasha_ ), staring down at him, her glorious red hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. As he stared up at her, he remembered he had hated her once. But also, that he didn’t any longer. They shared a kinship, as bitter and brutal as it was, and the understanding that came from that was something very few people would ever be able to comprehend.

 

She didn’t say anything to him, just met his gaze calmly. But he could see it, there in her eyes, in her smile, the relief she felt, as she leaned forward and gently tucked him in.

 

“Da,” was all she said once she was done. “Me too.” And then she was gone.

 

Sam visited as well. As Bucky stared up at him, he found himself thinking that it was a good face, a kind face, with his deep, dark skin that matched his doe-like eyes, warm and compassionate. And for the first time ever, Bucky understood why Steve wanted this man as his friend, why he had been the first one Steve reached out to in a world Bucky knew had confused and sometimes frightened him. Because Sam, more than anybody else, would have understood about how hard it was sometimes to try and find your way. So Bucky trusted him with his task, the most important one, the one Bucky had been born to perform, but couldn’t right now, because he needed to heal.

 

“Keep Stevie safe,” he pleaded. If he could have, he would have reached out and wrapped his hand around Sam’s wrist. But he was still too weak to do even that. Sam smiled.

 

“No can do,” he said with a shake of his head. “That’s your job Sarge, not mine. And your boy, he’s too much trouble for even me to handle.”

 

“Hey!” Came Steve’s voice from somewhere in the background.

 

“Always was…pain in the ass.”

 

“Hey!”

 

“But I will keep an eye on him for now,” Sam told him. “But just until you’re back on your feet. Because I swear to god Bucky, that man could break the patience of a saint.”

 

“Hey!”

 

“Thank you.” And then Bucky had to let go, and trust Sam was a man of his word, because his eyelids were drooping, and he needed more sleep.

 

There was the time he woke up to a warm softness against his metal arm, and the smell of baby powder tickling his nose. When he opened his eyes, Nina was there, and he was cradling her in his left arm, the plates vibrating on their own, because that’s what they did, that’s what he did, whenever he held her close.

 

He just stared at her. Stared and stared and stared, because he thought, he had been sure, when the bullets had been raining down upon him, and his life was burning to the ground, that he would never be able to do this again. And here she was, safe and secure, sleeping peacefully against his chest, just like she always had since the day she’d been born.

 

When he looked up, Dewy was smiling down at him. She looked awful. Her eyes were swollen, her cheeks drawn, her features haggard. Her hair was twisted into a sloppy bun at the top of her head, and for the first time since Bucky had met her, she wasn’t wearing any make-up. But she was still, _still_ , the most beautiful woman Bucky had ever seen. And Bucky loved her even more when she reached into her pocket, pulled out a vat of lip balm and then gently spread some over his lips that were cracked and dry, soothing their sting.

 

“Best…sister…ever…” he somehow managed to say.

 

“I love you too,” Dewy said to him with a smile that was soft and sweet. “Now hurry up and get better. Because you are not going to believe what Gus and his Ramona got up to this week, but it’s not as much fun watching them without you. So hurry up and get better so you can come home.”

 

Bucky hummed, and decided to join his goddaughter in her dreams.

 

And of course Joey made her appearance, plenty of them actually. But it was the first time that was the most surprising. Because she didn’t come stomping in, and there were no curses or huffs or sneers of derision.

 

Instead the first time Bucky opened his eyes and saw her, it was to find her lying in his bed, on her side, curled against him, her tiny fists clenching his hospital gown. Like Nina, she was asleep. But unlike Nina, she was trembling, her adorable little face pulled into a tight frown. Bucky looked around until he was able to locate Steve, leaning back against the windowsill, watching the both of them. When he met Bucky’s gaze, he merely shook his head.

 

“She needed to,” he said quietly. “She’s been coming every day after school, and all day on the week-ends. None of us can get her to stop, and Lulu says she hasn’t been able to sleep she’s been so worried. She misses you and she needs to know you’re going to be all right. You’re her best friend Bucky, and I know what that’s like. So when she asked me, I told her it was okay.”

 

Bucky nodded and closed his eyes. Because it was. If she needed this, needed him, then Bucky could give her that. She deserved no less. And it was such an easy thing to give, Bucky could do it in his sleep. Which he did, even as once again, he slipped away.

 

And then there was Stevie. Stevie, Stevie, Stevie.

 

Because no matter how much time passed, or who was with him, whenever Bucky was able to open his eyes, Steve was there. Always, always there. Brushing his hair or holding his hand or whispering softly to him, words of faith, hope, devotion and love. Promises made in the dark, that were never, ever broken, making sure Bucky knew he was safe, that he wasn’t alone, that he would never be left alone ever again, so that Bucky could believe and let go and trust, and close his eyes and simply rest, and let his body heal.

 

Until finally, eventually when he once again opened his eyes, his mind was clearer than it had been, and the pain, while still there, was bearable enough that Bucky knew he would be able to stand it for more than just a few minutes. As he lay there, fully aware of his surroundings for the first time in he couldn’t even begin to guess how long, he knew the worst of it was done. But also, that now, the really hard work was about to begin.

 

But he still needed a moment to gather his senses and look around to finally take in all of the details he hadn’t been able to before.

 

It was a large room, as was the bed. And there were all the standard hospital accoutrements; the beeping panels and machinery that were monitoring his vitals, as well as the stands by the side of the bed from which hung two IV bags that were connected to his right arm. The air smelled harsh and sterile, brittle with antiseptic, and artificially cold. But that was where the similarities ended.

 

As he studied and stared, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, he couldn’t help but notice that the walls were painted a warm mixture of peach and ambers, covered with fancy artwork. Hanging from the one across the bed was a huge flat screen television, with what appeared to be a fully stocked entertainment center beneath. There was a full, soft looking couch, covered in pillows, in one corner, and two matching chairs surrounding a sturdy coffee table in the other. There was a large window on a farther wall, draped with curtains, through which he could see it was dark out. And the floors were made of not harsh white tile, but warm wooden paneling. The room was indeed cold, but he was covered by a warm, down comforter, and the hospital gown he was wearing was made of a soft, finely woven cotton instead of rough, disposable paper. It looked and felt more like a sitting area or luxury suite in a fancy hotel, and Bucky was both confused by and grateful for the differences, and he felt himself frowning. Wherever he was, it didn’t feel like a hospital, and it certainly didn’t feel like one of the myriad of HYDRA labs he had woken to every time he had been pulled from the cryo-tank, and he thought that was probably the only reason just taking in his surroundings didn’t send him into a panic.

 

He then turned to his own body, finally ready to catalogue all of the aches and pains that still made breathing difficult, but nowhere near as badly as before. He felt as weak and as helpless as a kitten as he lay there, wiggling his toes and fingers. His stomach, shoulder, back and knee were all aching, but none so bad as his hip, which felt both heavy and tight and nearly impossible to move. From what little he could sense, his left arm was fully functional but the surrounding area too sore for him to be able to move it just yet. His head throbbed, and his skin felt raw, dry, pulled too tightly over his frame. There were sensors taped to his chest and what felt like a million tubes connected to his body; the one under his nose that pumped air into his nostrils that curled around his ears, the IV in his inner elbow, the one on the back of his right hand, and worst of all, one where no tube should ever be. And if all of that was not bad enough, on top of everything else, he was starving.

  

But he was alive, and he knew it could have been worse, so much worse, even if he had no idea where he was or how he had gotten here. And then even that faded away, because from nearby there came the sound of a toilet flushing, a door opening and closing, and then Steve was walking back into the room, wiping his hands dry with a paper towel.

 

He looked awful, almost as bad as Bucky felt. His hair, his beautiful golden hair, was limp and dull, hanging lifelessly around his face. Bucky couldn’t even begin to guess the last time he had shaved, because he looked more like a lumberjack than Captain America with a full and messy beard. His eyes were nearly red they were so bloodshot, and looked as if they had been punched, with heavy, bruise colored bags beneath them. His cheeks were hollow and his steps leaden, and Bucky decided then and there, no matter what he may have said to Wilson, he was going to strangle him the next time he saw him. Because he had asked for just one thing, just one damned simple thing, for him to take care of Stevie while he couldn’t, and the motherfucker couldn’t even get that right.

 

But then Steve looked up, saw Bucky staring at him, and froze. And suddenly nothing else mattered. Because his eyes, as bloodshot at they were, were still the blue of storms, and they still brightened with love and joy every time they fell upon Bucky. And he still smiled, that wonderful, secret little smile, that had always been Bucky’s and Bucky’s alone, when he saw him there. He was doing it now, giving the most secret pieces of himself to Bucky, gently, easily, generously. But only for an instant, even less than that, before he was back at Bucky side, sitting down and reaching for his hand.

 

“Hey,” his voice was shaky, but his eyes never lost their brightness, and his lips were soft as he laid a gentle kiss to Bucky’s brow.

 

“Hey,” Bucky was able to whisper back.

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

“Pissed off,” Bucky croaked.

 

“Pissed off? Why are you pissed off?” Steve wanted to know, already reaching for his hidden stash of ice chips.

 

“I gave Wilson one job, one single fucking job, to take care of you while I was down, and he can’t even do that right. You look like shit. Useless fucking flying chicken,” Bucky grumbled with a scowl. Steve dropped the cup of ice chips to the floor and stared wide eyed down at Bucky, blinking once, twice, and then again. His eyes grew even wider and his chin, what little Bucky could see of it beneath the forest Steve had decided to invite to grow there, began trembling. Then Steve lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s waist and pressing his face into Bucky’s stomach, and started to cry.

 

“Oh my god, oh my god, you’re giving me shit, you’re giving me shit and I never thought I would hear you give me shit ever again, and oh my god Bucky, I was so scared, so scared, but you’re giving me shit, and thank god Bucky, thank god,” he sobbed, his tears now the river the two of them needed to navigate.  It was every single one of Steve’s fears; being abandoned, being left behind, of having no one in the world who would understand who he was, where he had come from. Of losing the one person who had always known him, seen his truths no matter what kind of shield he threw up in defense. Of having to deal with Bucky dying all over again, when he had already been through that once, and not been able to bear it.

 

So Bucky let him sob and cry, shiver and shake, weep all of his deepest darkest fears into the quiet of the night, while holding onto him and doing his best to keep Steve safe, even if it was only with a hand that he could barely lift, to press it to the back of Steve’s neck. He didn’t tell him to stop or to _ssh_ , just let Steve cry, have this moment, have this weakness, because he needed to, and he needed to know Bucky would never think him weak for this, for being strong and brave enough to admit to his fears, and in spite of that, or because of that, still keep going.

 

Until it was over and done, and Steve was pulling away, but only to wipe his face with the paper towel he still held, before he shook his head and smiled at Bucky.

 

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he apologized. “Been a rough couple of weeks.”

 

“How long?” Bucky asked once Steve pulled yet another cup of ice from what Bucky realized was a small refrigerator at the side of his bed.

 

“Twenty-four days,” Steve answered flatly. “We had to keep you sedated for the first two weeks, to keep you immobile and give your body time to heal.”

 

“How bad was it?” Bucky mumbled around an ice cube.

 

“You don’t remember?” Steve asked him. Bucky shook his head.

 

“Not really,” Bucky admitted. “I just remember coming down into the kitchen to grab something to eat, and the windows exploding, I think? And then trying to get away. I don’t even know where they came from. I didn’t see anybody out in the street.”

 

“That’s because they weren’t.” Steve fed him another ice chip. “They were in the Lopez house. Apparently they came in through the back lot, and hunkered down, waiting for me to leave before they struck.”

 

“The old lady okay?”

 

“Yeah, she’s fine. She was out doing her grocery shopping and her daughter was at work. She didn’t even know anything had happened until she got home and saw our house. According to Lulu, she’s worried, keeps asking about you every time she sees her.”

 

“Thank god,” Bucky sighed, closing his eyes. Steve hummed and combed his fingers, cool from the ice, through Bucky’s hair.

 

“As for you…” He paused and Bucky could hear him swallowing. “They really did a number on you James. According to Bruce and the other doctors, it’s a miracle you survived.”

 

“How bad?” Bucky asked again.

 

“When we finally got you here, your body was riddled with bullets. You had a blown out hip joint, a shattered scapula and perforated intestines. There were two bullets lodged in your lower back, near your spine. One in the back of your thigh and one had gone through your knee cap and a scalp wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding. You had nerve damage and ruptured organs, and at one point your heart actually stopped for a few minutes and we all thought you were dead. But then the serum did its work and you started breathing. And then we found out they had pumped you with enough sedatives to take down an elephant. According to Natasha and Maria, there was a cryo-tank in the jet they were taking you to, and they were prepping you for it.”

 

“Oh Jesus, they weren’t taking any chances, were they?” Bucky closed his eyes and shook his head. It had been bad. It was still bad. And Bucky knew, if HYDRA had succeeded, if Steve hadn’t come for him, that would have been only the beginning.

 

“No,” Steve agreed. “They wanted you back and they didn’t care what they had to do to do it. But thank god you swallowed that bug Natasha planted. It’s the only reason we were able to get to you in time, you sneaky son of a bitch. Otherwise it would have been worse, so much worse.” Steve swallowed again and shook his head. “You had three surgeries in the first three days. One to remove all of the bullets and repair your organs, one to realign the fragments in your shoulder and knee with pins, and then another to do the same to your hip. And then a day and a half later, you had to have two more, because your body started to heal around them too quickly, and it rejected all of the pins, so those had to come out before they did more damage than good. You were in a medically induced coma for a week, and then heavily sedated for a week after that. And the past week, you’ve been in and out of consciousness for a few minutes at a time, but never more than that.

 

“But your bones have finally started to fuse, and most of the nerve damage has repaired itself. Anyone else and the biggest worry right now would be infection and permanent damage. But, anyone else would have been dead. So, you know, there’s that.” It was Bucky’s turn to swallow, and he did, before opening his eyes.

 

“The biggest issue right now is making sure you get enough calories so your body can finish the job. As long as we can do that, Bruce and Dr. Tripathi estimate it should take about two to three more months before you’re fully recovered, when it would be at least a year for anyone else without the serum. You probably won’t even have any scars.”

 

“Fuck,” Bucky whispered, once more closing his eyes.

 

“Yeah, fuck,” Steve agreed. “But I’ll tell you what. I think I’m going to start going back to church, because I’ve been praying every single day since you’ve been in here, and God must have heard me, because you’re still alive, and that’s _all_ that matters to me.” Steve fell quiet then, but kept up his gentle stroking of Bucky’s hair. And there was nothing for Bucky to say about anything Steve had told him, as that goddamned program in his brain activated itself, verifying everything Steve said. Until it glitched and stuttered, the information it provided causing Bucky to flinch.

 

_Reset failed. Original program unable to engage. Estimation of future functionality, less than 3.24 percent._

 

“They tried to reset me,” he gasped as he opened his eyes.

 

“I know,” Steve said calmly. “Dr. Shilimova told me that, right before I slit his throat.”

 

“Dr. Shilimova?”

 

“The one who was in charge of retrieving you. HYDRA’s latest genius, and according to Natasha, supposedly worse than even Zola was.”

 

“Didn’t seem to take,” Bucky was surprised. “Or it did, but then it failed.”

 

“No, it did,” Steve admitted softly. “But that was one of the first parts of your body that healed itself completely. Bruce showed me the scans. In less than a day, your brain reset the reset, and returned to its baseline. Bruce thinks that’s why they kept having to wipe and then freeze you. Apparently, those serums we were both injected with work even better than Erskine and Zola could have guessed. And its strongest component isn’t the strength it gave us, but our ability to heal. They never should’ve been able to revive me after seventy years in the ice, and you should have been brain dead after everything they did to you. Bruce has a theory, that JARVIS agrees with, that’s why all of your memories came back, when with anyone else, the loss would have been permanent. The serum made your brain capable of undoing any damage they did to it. But then again, Bruce also says there’s so much of the human brain we still don’t understand. So who knows?” Steve shrugged. “Quite honestly, I don’t give a damn. I thought you wouldn’t remember me when you woke up, but you did. You did, and that’s the only thing I care about.”

 

“Never forget you Stevie, never. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

 

“Right back atcha Buck,” Steve said, leaning in to press a kiss to Bucky’s lips. It was dry and papery, and the bristles around Steve’s mouth scratched at Bucky’s skin. But it was still one of the best kisses of Bucky’s life.

 

“Wait?” Bucky said, when Steve pulled away, his mind finally processing what else Steve had said. “You slit his throat?”

 

“Using the knife you gave me.” Steve’s mouth bore a foxlike grin that lacked any remorse. “I was trying to get to you, and he was in my way.”

 

It was Bucky’s turn to smile. But where Steve’s had lacked any remorse, Bucky was wide and filled to the brim with both pride and overwhelming love.

 

“You really know how to woo a guy.”

 

“Yeah well, like I said,” Steve said with that same, sharp curl to his mouth, “he was in my way.”

 

Bucky took a moment, sucking on the next ice chip Steve had slipped past his lips, before he asked the next question he needed an answer to. “How bad is it?”

 

“How bad is what?”

 

“The house.”

 

“Not too bad, believe it or not.” At Bucky’s disbelieving glare, Steve sighed. “The front steps and the kitchen are a disaster area. And there’s fire damage in the living and dining room. But she’s a tough old thing, our house. Pepper made a call and had some assessors sent out there, and the foundation’s still solid, and everything above the first floor is fine. I asked Pepper for help, and she and Lulu are coordinating with some stone masons and a construction crew to repair as much of it as they can, but not too much, because it’s still our house Bucky, and nobody loves it as much as we do. So, you know, replacing the windows and fixing the stairs and making sure the walls are solid and stable. But the rest of it, that’s us, that’s always been us, so we’ll get back to it when we can.”

 

“I can’t wait to go home,” Bucky breathed.

 

“Yeah…” Steve sighed again. “About that.”

 

“What?” Because what else could there be, what more could go wrong after everything that had already happened.

 

“It’s probably going to be a while before we’re able to move back there,” Steve eventually said.

 

“Why?” Bucky wanted to know. Steve sighed for the third time, as he reached out and twined his fingers with Bucky’s.

 

“Here’s the thing Buck,” he began, and then closed his eyes briefly while he shook his head. “We’ve been living a quiet life, me and you, and our neighbors have all been respecting that. But a HYDRA attack as bad as that one was, is going to attract attention. Not to mention the twenty-three bodies you left behind. The press found out about it, and they swarmed the place. Then they found out it was me who was living there, and even more of them showed up. And somehow, after that, they found out who I was living there with, who you were, that you were still alive, and we’ve now got press from every country in the world camping out on our street.”

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

 

“I wish I was,” Steve shook his head. “But it’s not just them Bucky. The UN Security Council knows, and they’re not happy about it. Neither are quite a few countries. And it looks like there’s going to end up being a trial.”

 

Bucky closed his eyes and swallowed. So this was it then, his ultimate reckoning. His time, all of it, had finally run out.

 

“So I’m going to jail then,” he whispered.

 

“No, you’re not.” Steve clenched his hand so tightly Bucky was forced to open his eyes.

 

“Stevie.” It was Bucky’s turn to shake his head.

 

“No, Bucky, _you’re not,_ ” Steve repeated.

 

“But…”

 

“Your legal team’s been preparing for this for months now,” Steve began.

 

“My legal team?”

 

“They’ve got the file Natasha gave me, and they’ve been spending months speaking with every specialist they could to support the case that you were brainwashed and forced to act against your will under repeated acts of torture,” Steve spoke over him. “And believe it or not, you were damned good at what you did Bucky. So while there may be theories and suspicions, the only concrete evidence of any crime you committed is the video of the Starks, and the eyewitness accounts of what happened in DC. And I’m sure as shit not going to testify against you, and neither will Sam or Natasha. And your lawyers are convinced that, combined with that, as well as most of our teammates saying how you’ve been providing suuport on just about every mission since you’ve been back, that as long as you’re willing to testify against HYDRA, and give up everything, _everything_ you know about them, that you’ll be acquitted of all charges. But you’re going to have to talk to them, to Nick and the security council and any investigators they throw our way. We’ve been holding them off for now while you’ve been recuperating, but they’re going to come, and soon. So, you know, it might be a while before we’re able to move back into the house.”

 

Bucky kept shaking his head, too exhausted and again in too much pain to be able to process and accept everything Steve just said.

 

“It won’t work, it’s too easy,” he was finally able to say.

 

“You think it’s been easy Bucky?” Steve asked, sounding angry for the first time during their entire conversation. “I’ve been working with Pepper on this for nearly a year, because I knew it was going to happen eventually, and we needed to be prepared for it when it finally did.” Steve rose from his seat at the side of Bucky’s bed, and leaned over him, his bloodshot eyes suddenly ablaze with all that he was and all that he had ever been, ever since he was six years old and refused to back down from a fight that he obviously couldn’t win. “I just got you back, and if you think I’m going to let _anyone or anything_ ever take you away from me again, then you, James Buchanan Barnes, are even more stupid than you look.”

 

Those bullies hadn’t counted on Bucky showing up and jumping in to be Steve’s back up. Maybe it was time for Bucky to finally accept he had back up of his own, always had. Because they had always been their best when they were together, not only back to back, but side by side. And they were even stronger now as men, and not the little boys they had once been. Bucky had forgotten that, but apparently Steve never had. Bucky just needed to be reminded of it every now and again. But this time he wouldn’t forget. And those bullies, no matter what age or size, wouldn’t stand a chance.

 

“Yeah, okay,” he agreed. “But can we deal with it tomorrow. I’m getting tired again. Too much talking.”

 

“Tomorrow’s fine Bucky. Or even a few days after that. I can hold them all off for now.”

 

“Thank you Stevie. Gonna go back to sleep now.”

 

“Yeah, okay Buck,” Steve began, but was cut off just as Bucky’s stomach growled, loudly.

 

“Okay, first maybe a sandwich, and then sleep, cos I’m starving.”

 

“First, I’m gonna call the doctor and let her take a look at you, because this is the longest you’ve been conscious since you were brought in here, and she’s going to be furious with me that I didn’t call her in sooner.” Steve pressed another kiss to Bucky’s forehead. “Then we’ll see about getting you something to eat. _And then_ you can go back to sleep.”

 

“Ugh,” Bucky grunted. “Hate you. Such a pain in my ass.”

 

“Yeah well, I’m the pain in the ass that loves you. So deal with it. Now don’t go anywhere,” the bastard had the nerve to joke. “I’m going to get Dr. Tripathi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since so many of you mentioned being worried in the comments for the last chapter, the Pizzas (and especially Meatball) may or may not be making a cameo appearance in the next chapter. =^._.^= =^._.^= =^._.^= =^._.^=
> 
> And as always everyone, your comments, support, jokes and kindness make my heart sing. I adore you all - Never stop being you. <3 <3 <3


	42. Breaking Bread

The days once again bled together after that. But they were different this time. Instead of being nothing more than a swirled kaleidoscope of pain mixed with sleep, they were now a kaleidoscope of pain, less sleep, and an endless array of tests and questions.

 

And physical therapy, which was even worse.

 

It wasn’t easy, it was never going to be easy, because there were ripples and after effects of everything HYDRA had done to him, and not just from their most recent attempt at recapture.

 

While it may have been luxurious, and unlike anything Bucky had ever encountered before, the medical floor of the Avengers Tower was still a hospital, filled with doctors and technicians and machinery, too reminiscent of what HYDRA had put him through, and just being there made Bucky twitchy and nervous. He was fine as long as someone was with him, but it quickly became obvious that if he was left alone for more than five minutes he started to panic. But his friends and family accepted and understood, and made sure someone was there so Bucky was never left alone.

 

And he could only sit still, and allow his doctor to examine him or his blood be drawn by a nurse, if Steve was there. It couldn’t be anyone else, it had to be Steve. That was quickly discovered when a nurse had quietly walked into his room to check his vitals while Steve had stepped out to grab something to eat, leaving him with Joey. Bucky had literally lost his mind, the Asset pulling itself free from his shadows like it hadn’t in nearly a year, uncurling like a serpent, fangs bared, ready to defend itself. Steve had come bursting back into the room to find Bucky on his feet, struggling to remain upright, his IVs pulled from his skin, and a knife he managed to swipe from a meal service clenched in his left hand, while Joey hissed and cursed at the nurse, her fists raised, preparing to jump to Bucky’s defense.

 

It had taken nearly thirty minutes, and Bucky nearly collapsing to the floor, before he had been able to settle back down. And he absolutely refused to let Dr. Tripathi examine him for an entire day after that, no matter how much Steve begged and pleaded. And then it was Steve’s turn to curse and hiss at the nurse, Joey at his back, repeating everything Steve said in Spanish, while the nurse blanched and ended up scrambling from the room.

 

That nurse never came back. And Bucky’s medical team made sure to keep to a set schedule after that, so Steve could always be there whenever they needed something from Bucky from that point on.

 

Steve was as good as his word, and he never left Bucky’s side. That became an issue in and of itself. Because while Bucky began to heal, slowly, slowly, in such tiny little baby steps, Steve still looked haggard and drawn, the redness never leaving his eyes, the bags beneath them big enough to outfit an entire baseball team. And no matter how much Bucky argued or tried to convince him, he refused to leave Bucky’s side. Bucky ended up having to call in the big guns.

 

“Make him go home,” he begged his mother. “He looks like shit and he needs a break. Make him go home and get some sleep. He needs it. Please Mami.”

 

“Bucky, I’m fine,” Steve snapped, crossing his arms.

 

“You are not fine,” Lulu turned on him. “And Bucky is right, you look like shit. I already have one son in the hospital. I don’t need two. Dewy and Clint will stay with him tonight. We’re going to go home, right now. I’m going to feed you and then you’re going to take a shower, and shave that shit off your face. You look like you humped a beaver with your chin. It’s disgusting. Now come on.” She strode forward, all righteous indignation and queenly arrogance, grabbed Steve by the arm, and practically dragged him out of the room, while Steve sputtered and from behind him Clint cackled.

 

Twelve hours later, when Steve finally reappeared, his hair was washed and trimmed, his eyes less bloodshot, and most importantly of all, his face was clean-shaven.

 

“Oh thank god,” was all Bucky could say.

 

“I love America,” Dewy sang.

 

“Hey there Hot Stuff,” Clint added.

 

“It wasn’t that bad,” Steve grumbled.

 

“No, it really, really was,” Dewy said, just as Nina farted her agreement from the cradle of Bucky’s arms.

 

They came to a new agreement after that. As long as someone stayed in the room with him overnight, Steve would go home so he could take a break, shower and sleep ( _and shave_ ) before he returned bright and early the next morning. Bucky had to admit he was surprised by how easily they were able to find volunteers. But his friends and his family (and really, there wasn’t any difference between the two anymore) seemed to have worked out a schedule of their own, because there was always someone there to spend the night with him, while Steve rested at home. Joey on the week-ends, who would climb into his bed and settle herself, her laptop filled with K-dramas and anime for them to watch until Bucky fell asleep. Clint, who would pick random movies for them to review, providing snarky commentary that always made Bucky laugh. Sam, who showed up with books and card games, a quiet companion who was surprisingly easy to be with.

 

And Thor, who was Bucky’s favorite visitor, because whenever he came, he carried with him a large basket, that once he closed the door behind him, he would set on the bed and lift its lid, so the Pizzas could scamper free and drown Bucky in their purrs and tiny meows and warm furry little bodies. When Steve finally caught them at it, walking in to find Meatball draped over Bucky’s shoulder while he crooned to him, calling him a brave and tough little boy, as he gently ran his fingers over his now jagged and scarred left ear, he didn’t say a word. He just rolled his eyes, and came over to the bed, scooping Pepperoni up from her perch on Bucky’s lap, so she could curl up, like she still loved to do, against his shoulder.

 

It may have been a fancy hospital, but it was still a hospital, and that meant that it still had hospital food. While Bucky may have spent the majority of those first few weeks starving, eating as much as he could so his body would have enough fuel to repair itself, it didn’t mean he enjoyed any of it, and on occasion even found himself moving his food around his plate, in an effort to make it look more appetizing. It was boring and bland and even as hungry as he was, he had a hard time finding any enthusiasm for it.

 

Thankfully, that didn’t last very long.

 

Less than a week into his second stage of recovery, Lulu intervened, carrying a large insulated bag as she swanned into the room, while simultaneously arguing with Bucky’s doctor.

 

“Mrs. Rodriguez, I know you’re his mother, and you’re worried, but I really don’t think –“

 

“Dr. Tripathi, everyone here keeps telling me that you’re one of the best doctors in the world. And from what I’ve seen so far, I agree with them, _mostly_. But from everything you’ve said, one of the biggest problems is that Bucky hasn’t been putting on any weight. Well, I know my son, and I know what he likes to eat. You can take care of his body. _I_ will be the one to make sure that he’s eating enough from now on.” Then, as behind her Dr. Tripathi sputtered and gasped, Lulu sat herself down next to Bucky’s bed, locked the rolling table into place in front of him, and began to spread out a feast of arroz con habichuelas, mofongo, tostones, and Malta. And porkchops, and endless stream of them, that Bucky devoured almost as fast as she could plate them, moaning with each bite.

 

Lulu took over most of his meal preparation after that, making sure every dinner Bucky consumed was filled with all of his favorite foods.

 

But…she wasn’t the only one. Because Bucky had visitors, lots and lots and lots of visitors. There was Senora Perez, who showed up several times a week in the mornings, with bagfuls of churros and thermoses filled with Bustelo. Elena also visited, carrying an insulated carrier filled with half a dozen pizzas, and over a dozen boxes of Thin Mint cookies. When Carla arrived, she came with pictures of her grandson, and enough double bacon cheeseburgers, cheese fries with gravy and milkshakes to feed an entire army. Rei-san even came twice, each time with a steaming bowl of pork filled ramen, that she laid out in front of Bucky in an elegant array, speaking to him softly in Japanese, but smiling as she watched Bucky slurp down her noodles.

 

And then there was old Mr. Yuen, who came by for a visit nearly every day, with his hat in his hands, and dozens and dozens of still steaming pork puns. He had actually cried during his first visit, clutching Bucky’s right hand in his knobbled one, and Bucky spent a good portion of that morning apologizing for making him worry and trying to calm him down. Steve had watched the entire exchange leaning back against the wall, a fond smile on his face.

 

“He was worried,” Steve told Bucky, once he had left. “He kept asking about you every time I went in there, not believing when I told him you were fine. I’d never seen him move so fast when I asked him if he wanted to come see you.”

 

“He’s a great old guy,” Bucky acknowledged around a mouthful of pork bun.

 

“He is,” Steve grinned. “But it seems as if you’ve built up quite the fan club in our neighborhood. Everyone’s been asking after you.” Bucky just shrugged and reached for another pork bun.

 

It got to the point where there was always such an abundance of food in Bucky’s room that Dr. Tripathi just waved her hands in defeat, and there was usually a crowd in there with Steve and Bucky whenever it was mealtime.

 

Clint was practically always there, but that wasn’t a surprise. So were Sam and Thor, especially whenever Lulu was the one on kitchen duty. But there were others too, Steve’s friends and teammates, that Bucky slowly came to know as the weeks passed. Maria Hill was a calm and cool presence, but could be cuttingly funny when the mood struck her. (She always seemed to show up after a visit from Mr. Yuen.) Pepper was a sweet woman with strawberry blonde hair, cheerful and friendly, but frighteningly intelligent. (She had a fondness for Lulu’s arroz con pollo, and developed an easy going friendship with Dewy.) Bruce Banner was a quiet man, reserved and unassuming. Another genius among them, he was a little on the nervous side, but kind and surprisingly gentle, and a big fan of double bacon cheeseburgers. Bucky liked him almost immediately, even if he was a doctor, and they slowly developed their own banter, where Bucky would gently tease him, and Bruce, to almost everyone’s surprise, would gleefully snark back. Bruce never asked invasive questions, and was respectful of Bucky’s privacy, even though it was obvious he was curious. But they got along, and they got along well. Steve had thought they would, but even he was surprised when he walked back into Bucky’s room one afternoon to find them playing a game of chess. They were finishing their fifth game, Bruce having won three, and Bucky just about to call checkmate. Bruce was a tough opponent, but to Bruce’s delight, Bucky could indeed hold his own. It was a pleasant way to spend an afternoon.

 

Natasha even started dropping by, not very often, but every few days she would come into Bucky’s room to, according to her, just check up on him. They would probably never be the best of friends, but they did understand each other, and the roads they had both been forced to travel. They could just sit, each reading from whatever novel they were in the middle of, not speaking, but comfortable none-the-less. And after the first time Bucky invited her to one of Lulu’s dinner feasts, she patted his hand, and smiled a grateful little smile at him. Sancocho con cinco carnes ended up being her preferred Puerto Rican food of choice, but she agreed with Joey that tostones were better with ketchup.

 

And then finally, ultimately, one day several weeks into his stay, Bucky looked up and there was the man he had never wanted to come face to face with ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, be honest...Do I need to go back to the bush now?


	43. Tony

He appeared during the fifth week, three days before Bucky was going to be discharged. Steve was not happy about it, and had gone off to argue with Bucky’s medical team about his recovery. But Kali, Bucky’s physical therapist, said that once Bucky could manage to walk unassisted around the floor for thirty minutes, he would be mobile enough to go home. Bucky had pushed himself extra hard that day to achieve that goal, Steve cursing in the background, and his body was suffering for it now. He was still weak, still ached, his body as fragile as the barely opened petals of a newly blooming rose, and he needed to close his eyes for five fucking minutes before Steve returned and they resumed arguing about Bucky going home.

 

He must have dozed off, Steve’s angry voice an ironically soothing counterpoint in the background, when his enhanced senses, (late to return but as keen as they’d ever been), told him someone else was in the room with him. Someone he didn’t know. He opened his eyes and standing there, less than ten feet away, was Tony Stark. Staring at him.

 

Bucky stared back, not saying a word.

 

He was not surprised. In fact, the only thing he was surprised about was that it had taken this long, since Bucky had been living in the man’s building for over the past month. But Tony had not made an appearance, and Bucky had thought that maybe, just this one time, he would get off easy. Apparently his luck was not that good. And it was time to pay the devil his due.

 

“Stark,” he said quietly after another agonizing moment of silence. Tony shook his head, as if in disgust, turned around and closed the door behind him, before he approached Bucky’s bed.

 

“You know,” he began with another shake of his head. But his eyes never left Bucky’s face. “I have a pretty damned good life. I have more money than I know what to do with, fame, and enough power to help make a difference in this world, because really, that’s all I ever wanted to do. I have the most beautiful and understanding girlfriend anyone could ask for, an amazing group of teammates, and, if I do say so myself, a pretty spiffy house. I’m the best at what I do, but I’ve worked damned hard for it, so excuse me if I think I’m entitled to a bit, just a bit mind you, of credit here.” When Bucky didn’t say anything, Tony rolled his eyes and took another step forward.

 

“And then one day this guy, that my father never could stop going on about while I was growing up, gets defrosted from his little cabana of ice up in the North Pole, and all of a sudden the world just can’t stop talking about him, and it’s like I’m that little kid all over again, having to listen to my father go on about Captain America this and Captain America that. And I start to think ‘Oh fuck, not this shit again.’

 

“Then I actually meet the guy, this Steven Grant Rogers, and I get to know him. And you know, he’s really not such a bad sort. A little slow on the uptake sometimes, and a bit of a self-righteous asshole every now and again, but not too bad. I can even begin to see what it was my father admired about him. So we start working together, because we do have the same goals, and we pull this team together, and it seems to work. Steve’s the brawn, and I’m the brains, obviously,” it was Bucky’s turn to roll his eyes, but Tony ignored him, “but we’re good at what we do. And I think, okay, this isn’t too shitty, I can work with this, and we can get it done.” Tony took another step forward, a frown now tightening his features.

 

“And then _you_ show up, out of the fucking blue. Another geriatric popsicle that should be dead, but somehow is still alive. And it’s even better this time, because all of a sudden good old Cap doesn’t give a shit about what anyone else has to say, not his friends or his teammates or any of the other people who are now depending on him, because he has to find his _Bucky_ , and bring him back.

 

“And if that’s not bad enough, that _Bucky_ , who I also used to hear about from my father and my Aunt Peggy all the goddamned motherfucking time growing up, is the one who murdered my parents in cold blood.”

 

“I’m sorry –“

 

“ _Shut up!_ ” Tony cut Bucky off. “It’s my turn to talk now.” Bucky fell silent, but kept his eyes locked with Tony’s. It _was_ his turn to talk now, and he needed to have his say. And after everything Bucky had done to this man, he could at least give him that.

 

“And little did I know it at the time, but behind my back, Cap starts introducing this guy to our team, and bringing him in on missions to provide back-up that we didn’t fucking need. And everybody fucking loves Cap, thinks he’s such a great guy, and knows what’s best for everyone. Then one day, in the middle of a mission, this monster that has been causing me nightmares for decades, that Cap had the fucking balls to use my own computer to help track down, gets on his knees and apologizes for what he’s done, and tells me to take my fucking shot. And you know, maybe it wasn’t my best decision, but it’s my goddamned right after what he put me through, so I take it. But suddenly I’m the fucking bad guy, because this fucker is even worse that Steve, and people just fucking love him.

 

“Then that bastard has the nerve to get hurt, and what does Cap do? He brings him here, to _my house_ and _my medical bay_. And now I’ve got a swarm of Puerto Rican women who’ve taken over my kitchen, and my girlfriend refuses to go out to any of our favorite restaurants because she only wants to eat some shit called mofongo. And people coming in and out of here like it’s Penn Station with even more food, and cats in baskets. Never mind the fourteen year old who keeps hacking into my servers like it’s a fucking free for all, because everyone is worried about this guy. And it pisses me off, because this was my life, and it’s a good fucking life, and now Steve will barely speak to me, and I have to deal with all this bullshit.”

 

“Because of me,” Bucky admitted in a whisper.

 

“Because of _you_ ,” Tony sneered with a nod. And then for the first time, Tony broke their gaze, closing his eyes with a sigh and a tiny shake of his head. “But then, I actually take a look at the file Steve’s been shoving at me for the past six months. And I read all of the doctors’ reports on what condition you were in when you got here, and the police files on what those bastards did to your house when they came for you. I even talked to JARVIS and Bruce about it.” When Tony lifted his head and again looked at Bucky, his eyes were old and weary. They were the eyes of a man who had seen too much, lived too hard, and carried with him not only his suffering, but the suffering of the world. They were the same eyes Bucky often saw looking back at him when he stared at himself in a mirror. And Bucky couldn’t help but think that while Tony may have had a Pepper, he didn’t have a Steve. Because Steve was what made all of it bearable, even enjoyable, and worth everything that had come before.

 

“What they did to you…I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Not even you. And the way you fought to keep from being recaptured, you really didn’t want to go back, did you?” Tony eventually asked.

 

“No,” Bucky shook his head. “I would have rather died first.”

 

“You fucking hate them, don’t you?”

 

“Nobody hates HYDRA more than me. Not even Steve.”

 

“Hmm,” Tony hummed and then went back to staring at him. He was a handsome man, with a strong bearing, and what Bucky thought would have been a nice face if he smiled more. But he wasn’t smiling now, just kept staring and studying, with Bucky unable to fathom what thoughts were running through his complicated mind.

 

“You really didn’t have a choice, did you?” was Tony’s question when he finally did speak.

 

“No,” Bucky whispered. But he kept his eyes on Tony’s. “I didn’t. I wasn’t even there in my head. I didn’t…I didn’t even remember what I’d done until a year ago…And I am so, so sorry for what I did to you, to them. I would take it back if I could, Tony Stark, but I can’t.”

 

Tony continued to stare at him, the air heavy and thick between them, clotted with blood and just as many regrets. Until eventually he again sighed and tipped his head in Bucky’s direction. “Thank you for saying so.”

 

Bucky nodded in acknowledgement, and waited to see what else this man would do. Tony was quiet for a long moment, his eyes now distant, before he shook himself out of whatever reverie he had lost himself to, shoved his hands in his pockets and started to pace.

 

“So,” he began, his speech patterns falling into a rapid pitter-patter Bucky recognized from all of Steve’s stories about him, “they did quite a number on your house, which is a shame. It’s an old place, but you know, you old things are tougher than you look. But that doesn’t mean you don’t need a bit of an upgrade every now and then. So, I’ve had all of your windows replaced with the same material I used when I designed the Tower. One-way and tint controlled, so you can set the lighting however you and the Popsicle like, and practically indestructible. The next time they try to Molotov cocktail your house, anything they throw at you will just bounce back, even a missile.” Bucky jerked at his words, and Tony, seeing the gesture, smirked. “Yeah. I’ve also had central air and heating installed, _without_ messing with any of the interior details,” Tony raised his hand at Bucky’s opened mouth, “because seriously, it’s the twenty-first fucking century, and that shit’s embarrassing. Also, the next time you come around, we’ll get you fitted for better gear. Lighter, more flexible, completely bullet proof, just like Cap’s. Cos that shit you’ve been wearing is over fifteen years old and we can do better. More stylish too, cos that black man, what the hell? Did they wake you up in the eighties and make you listen to The Cure, and you decided it was going to stick?”

 

“Ummm…”

 

“We’ll also get you some better guns, although with the way you shoot, I don’t think it will make a difference, but we could always use a sniper with your skills on the team. Because Cap can do amazing things with that shield, but personally, I’m a big believer in taking someone down with one shot.”

 

“You already had yours,” it was Bucky’s turn to cut him off. Tony stopped and stared at him. “And you wasted it. I would have gone for the head.” Tony blinked at him before he ended up cackling.

 

“Oh my fucking god,” he laughed, he actually laughed. “There’s two of you now. I’ll remember that next time.”

 

“There isn’t going to be a next time.”

 

“No,” Tony agreed, his voice quiet, subdued, but most surprising of all, honest. “There isn’t.” Then he reached into his pocket with his right hand, pulled it out and tossed something in Bucky’s direction. Bucky caught it in his left.

 

“Stark phone,” Tony responded to Bucky’s questioning gaze. “Fully loaded and nothing the public will be able to get their hands on for at least another decade. Twenty-four-seven access to JARVIS, including a panic button that if you press will have all of us at your location within seven minutes. Access to all of our resources and databases, including SHIELD’s. Keep it on you and don’t lose it. You couldn’t afford to replace it. Every member of the Avengers carries the exact same one. Try to keep your little genius from hacking into it. I’m tired of wasting my time rewriting code.”

 

“I…I…” Bucky stuttered.

 

“Yeah, I know, thank you Tony Stark, you really are the most amazing, handsome and intelligent man out there,” Tony went on with a wave of his hand.

 

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

 

“If you really want to thank me, you’ll let me take a look at that arm of yours. Steve would only let the doctors do an initial scan to make sure it was still working properly, and then he had JARVIS lock down the files so even Bruce and I couldn’t get a look at them.”

 

 _Because I agreed with Captain Rogers, Sir. That arm belongs to Sergeant Barnes, and his bodily autonomy has already been violated enough. It is up to him, and only him, to decide who receives any access it to_ , the AI’s voice suddenly spoke out of nowhere.

 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah JARVIS,” Tony flapped his hand around in the air absently. “That thing’s a goldmine of tech. Even I’ve never seen anything like it. I’m willing to bet it’s got some form of nano-technology running through it.”

 

_Never-the-less Sir, that decision remains with Sergeant Barnes._

 

“Uh…thanks?” Bucky spoke into the air.

 

_You are quite welcome Sergeant. Welcome to the team. And may I just add that I am glad to see how well your recovery has progressed. Both Captain Rogers and I have been very worried, and I am happy to see you back on your feet. I look forward to working with you in the future._

 

“Oh god, even my own fucking computer.”

_Well Sir, both Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes are extremely polite, and have proven to be very easy to work with in the past._

 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Tony groused, turning to make his way to the door. Only to find Steve standing there, leaning back against the frame, his arms crossed. “Jesus fucking Christ!” Bucky had known he was there, had heard him come in half-way through their conversation. But, in the spirit of fair play, (and the possible need for back-up), had decided not to say anything about it.

 

“Tony,” Steve said with a cock of his head.

 

“Santa,” Tony retorted as he brushed by Steve. As he left, Bucky could hear him mumbling under his breath, “Now there’s fucking two of them. Fuck my life.”

 

_I will be sure to inform Miss Potts that you said so, Sir._

 

Steve snorted and uncrossed his arms as he slowly made his way over to the bed, where Bucky was still sitting, staring down at the phone in his hand.

 

“He really isn’t so bad, you know, once you get to know him,” Steve said, gently nudging his shoulder. “Has a bit of a temper, and a tendency to drink too much sometimes, instead of facing his problems head on, but he usually ends up making the right decision in the end.”

 

“He talks too much,” Bucky grumbled.

 

“Yeah well, you get used to it.” Steve gave him another gentle nudge. “And Angry Birds helps. _A lot._ ” Bucky snorted. “Besides, we can handle him, no problem.” Steve lifted his right arm, and carefully draped it over his shoulder. “Welcome to the Avengers, Buck. It’s about damned time.” Then he pressed a kiss, soft and familiar, to Bucky’s temple. And all Bucky could do was smile.

 

***

 

Not only did Tony Stark talk a lot, but he never fucking shut up.

 

Bucky thought after their conversation that would be the end of it, and the two of them would only encounter each other when the Avengers were assembled, or possibly during a training session. But apparently Tony was a nosy busy-body, almost as bad as Steve, who had opinions on everything, Bucky was quick to discover two days later, when he walked into Bucky’s room, at the exact same time as Steve was doing a maintenance check on Bucky’s arm.

 

“What the hell is going on in here?” he practically shouted once he saw what was going on.

 

“I’m checking his arm for him,” Steve answered calmly, as he inserted the diagnostic wand into the port on Bucky’s bicep. Bucky closed his eyes and flinched; his nerves were still sensitive, enflamed with pain, and the probe stung even more than it usually did as it engaged itself. It took longer than usual for it to run its scan before Bucky heard it beep, and then Steve was saying “Blue,” before he gently disconnected it.

 

“Wait, wait, wait, wait a minute,” Tony started rambling. “Are you telling me that the both of you are sitting here in a building with the world’s most advanced tech, and two, but only one really, of the world’s most brilliant men, and you’re letting Frosty the Snowman here mangle that beautiful piece of technology while you just sit there and let him?”

 

“He does a better job on it than I do,” Bucky said.

 

“That’s because I can see it better than you can Buck.” Steve carefully replaced the wand in its case, and then sat patiently, waiting for Bucky to release the inner access panel on his shoulder.

 

“Yeah Stevie, but you figured out how to do things I would have never thought to try.” Bucky took a deep breath, and then cocked his head, exhaling at the sting as the panel opened.

 

“It doesn’t look too bad,” Steve said, once he had taken a closer look at the inner workings of Bucky’s shoulder. “What’s the feedback telling you?”

 

“There’s a two percent lag.”

 

“I can tighten up some of the neural interfaces, but I think we should hold off for a bit on that. At least until you’ve put on some more weight. It’ll just cause you pain you don’t need until then. But it’s looking to me like everything has already started to reintegrate itself back to your shoulder,” Steve said as he pulled away from his deeper scrutiny.

 

“JARVIS, start scanning this, will you?” Tony ordered as he came around the bed to watch.

 

_I apologize, Sir, but both Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes have requested that I not record any of the proceedings._

 

“What? Fuck that! I need to get a better look at this thing, because holy shit, I was right. It looks like there’s definitely some kind of nano-tech in there.”

 

“Back up Tony,” Steve growled. “This is none of your business.”

 

“The hell it’s not!” Tony argued.

 

 _You may want to try asking, Sir,_ JARVIS interrupted. _Nicely._

 

“My own fucking computer,” Tony grumbled. But he didn’t back off; in fact, he perched himself on the bed and began to poke and prod at the tools in Bucky’s maintenance kit, mumbling to himself as he did. Steve sighed and reached for his phone, tapping quickly on the screen.

 

“What?” Joey's voice snapped over the speaker.

 

“Hey Josie, it’s Steve,” Steve spoke aloud.

 

“I know. Why are you bothering me? I’m downloading the last episode of The Last Empress so me and Bucky can watch it later.”

 

“Bucky needs your help,” Steve explained.

 

“What’s the matter?” Her voice instantly changed, becoming nervous, worried, concerned, where it had been all bitter glass and sharp angles just a second ago.

 

“I’m taking a look at Bucky’s arm, so it stops hurting him so much, and Tony Stark is in here and he won’t leave us alone. I think he wants to steal it.”

 

There was silence on the other end, that lasted less than ten seconds, before Steve’s phone lit up with an incoming picture. Steve picked it up, glanced at the screen, and then held it out so Bucky could see. Once Bucky had snorted, he showed it to Tony. Tony blanched.

 

“Tell him if he doesn’t leave Bucky alone, I’ll send that to the AP wire service,” Joey said. “And if that doesn’t work, tell him he has seven minutes before I shut the building down again.”

 

_I would really appreciate it if you did not do that, Miss Rodriguez._

 

“You’re a very nice program, Mr. JARVIS. But Bucky’s my best friend. If you fuck with him, you fuck with me. And I don’t like being fucked with.”

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Tony snapped.

 

 _I am afraid she is not, Sir. She has already started to access my systems, and…_ JARVIS paused. _I do not seem to be able to stop her._

 

“You have six minutes and thirty seconds.”

 

“What do you mean you’re not able to stop her?” Tony asked in obvious surprise.

 

 _Exactly what I said, Sir,_ JARVIS continued. _So perhaps you should do as both Captain Rogers and the young Miss Rodriguez suggested and leave the room. Or ask nicely._

 

“Six minutes.”

 

“Where the hell did you find this kid?” Tony gasped.

 

“My name is not kid. My name is Josefina Luisa Marianna Rodriguez. And Bucky didn’t find me, I found him. You now have three minutes.”

 

“Wait a minute, you just said we had six,” Tony countered.

 

“I’m losing patience and you’re pissing me off.”

 

“All right, all right, all right! I’m outta here! I’m outta here. Jesus fucking Christ! I just wanted a look at that arm. I can probably make it run better. Keep your goddamned panties on!” Tony said as he rose from the bed and began to step away.

 

“Keep your dick out of other people’s doughnuts!” Joey snapped back. Tony froze, mid-step, his eyes widening. “Two minutes.” At that, Tony turned and fled, just as Steve and Bucky burst out laughing. “He’s gone?”

 

“Yeah Josie. He’s gone,” Steve said once he had finally stopped laughing.

 

“You okay now Bucky?”

 

“Yeah Joey, I’m good. Thanks for that,” Bucky answered.

 

“You’re welcome,” she said sweetly. “I’ll see you in two hours.”

 

“Can’t wait.”

 

“And I’m sorry about that Mr. JARVIS. I really do enjoy our conversations, but Bucky needed me, and he’s always going to come first.”

 

_Understood, Miss Rodriguez._

 

“See you later Tio Steven. Call me if you or Bucky need anything else,” Joey said and disconnected.

 

“That best friend of yours, Bucky,” Steve shook his head with a smile. “She really is going to take over the world one day.”

 

_Agreed._

 

“What can I say? I've always known how to pick ‘em.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right! I mean it this time! I'm done with the bush! For reals! 
> 
> ...
> 
> Maybe.
> 
> ...
> 
> =D


	44. Stretching Boundaries

Maybe it was the food, or maybe it was being surrounded by friends and family, but once Bucky was able to eat enough, his body started healing at a rate that surprised the entirety of his medical team, including Steve. Bruce said nothing about it, but he spent a lot of time reading through Bucky’s charts on his tablet, his brow furrowed, talking quietly to himself. Bucky had no idea what he was seeing, and probably would have been curious if he had any energy to spare.

 

But he didn’t. Because a few days after his initial few hours of prolonged consciousness, his physical therapy started, and that was an entirely new level of hell.

 

It was deceptively easy at first, although still painful. Isolated movements of the areas of his body that had suffered the most severe trauma, to keep the muscles and fascia around the joints as loose as possible. Those rapidly proceeded into weight bearing exercises. And after that, walking.

 

That proved to be the most challenging aspect of it all. Bucky needed to relearn to walk, to teach bones and muscles that were rebuilding and re-growing how to move and balance themselves as he struggled for each desperate step. Normally that would have involved him using a walker, and then graduating to a cane. But the damage to his shoulder and lower back made that nearly impossible.

 

Nearly. But not quite.

 

For the initial sessions, his first physical therapist, Joseph, had him use a machine that stabilized his core, while forcing his legs to work. It was constricting and uncomfortable, and too limiting in Bucky’s point of view. He pushed himself hard, probably too hard during those sessions, but to his therapist’s and doctor’s surprise, he never complained.

 

What perhaps they had forgotten, or never known, was Bucky had been through worse. Much, much, much worse. And maybe it was a leftover tangent of HYDRA’s programming or brainwashing. Or perhaps it had always been some aspect of Bucky’s own personality, (he had forced himself to shrug it off and follow Steve back into battle after Steve rescued him from Zola’s war camp after all), but he needed to return to full functionality as soon as possible. Pain, and his pain was still tremendous, was not a consideration, and he had completed missions successfully under worse circumstances.

 

The doctors may have never known this about his past, or may have forgotten it if they did ever know. But Steve certainly hadn’t. And he was not pleased.

 

“How long has he been at this?” he hissed on the fifth day after Bucky’s therapy had started, when he returned from lunch to find Bucky creeping his way down the hallway, his left arm against the wall, while Joey walked at his side with one arm around his waist for support, and the other carefully holding onto his IV stand.

 

“Half an hour,” Joseph said. “He’s making excellent progress.”

 

“Progress,” Steve repeated, knives in his voice.

 

“Yes,” Joseph said with a proud nod. “I told him he needed to walk down to the end of the hallway and back, until he couldn’t do it anymore. This is his third trip.”

 

“His third,” Bucky heard Steve echo as he forced himself to take another step.

 

“Yes.”

 

“And has he complained about any pain?” Steve asked.

 

“No,” Joseph shook his head. “Said he hasn’t reached his limit yet, and that he wanted to keep at it.”

 

“I see.” Bucky could hear Steve swallowing from his end of the hallway. Another step. Another step. Another step. He could do this. His body had been through worse. “Did you actually read his file, Joseph?”

 

“I did, Captain Rogers. And I assure you, we’re doing everything we can to restore Sergeant Barnes’ mobility as soon as possible,” Joseph responded.

 

“Then you are aware that Bucky’s body’s been modified like mine?”

 

“Yes, with a serum that increases his healing rate. It’s really quite remarkable. His progress so far has been amazing, and I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it for myself.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Steve said flatly. Another step, another step, another goddamned motherfucking step. “Did you also read the psychological profile I provided all the doctors with?”

 

“Of course I did,” Joseph assured him. Another step, another step, another goddamned motherfucking step.

 

“Then you’re also aware that Sergeant Barnes does not process pain normally. In fact, was the victim of a consistently brutalizing training regimen for over seventy-five years that taught him how to ignore his own body’s warning signals, sacrificing his own well-being if it meant the completion of a task?”

 

Another step, another step, another goddamned motherfucking step…

 

_Uh-oh._

 

“Uh-oh,” Joey quietly echoed his thoughts.

 

“Um…” Joseph faltered.

 

“And that he has already started to refuse any painkillers and won’t admit how much pain he’s actually in, because right now, more than anything, he wants to go home.”

 

“I…wasn’t aware of that.”

 

“No, I didn’t think you were Joseph. Now I was told you’re one of the best specialists in your field, and I know when we first met I very clearly explained to you that, given Bucky’s history, you had to provide him with reasonable limits for an unenhanced human, and not let Bucky determine them, because he’s going to push himself too hard, and end up doing more damage to himself than good.”

 

“But Sergeant Barnes said –“

 

“As I stated before,” Steve cut Joseph off. “Sergeant Barnes’ primary goal at this point is to go home. And that young woman by his side, the one helping him? She’s his best friend, and she’s a genius. But she’s fourteen years old, and she wants Bucky to come home even more than he does, and she’ll do anything he asks of her if it means he’ll come home sooner. But she’s only fourteen years old, and not a doctor or a physical therapist.”

 

“She uh, she wanted to help?”

 

“I’m sure she did. But that’s not her job. It’s yours. Or at least it was. I can’t believe you allowed this happen, when I know you were specifically told you had to be extremely careful with Bucky’s rehabilitation.”

 

“How far away is the bathroom?” Bucky asked Joey quietly.

 

“Ten feet, too far to make it before he gets here,” Joey answered.

 

“Go then. Save yourself,” Bucky panted, ignoring the beads of sweat dripping down his face and into his eyes. “Close the door behind you and lock yourself inside. I’ll try to hold him off for as long as I can.”

 

“I’m not leaving you-“

 

“ _James Buchanan Barnes, I leave you alone for less than forty-five minutes and this is the shit you pull?_ Get your ass in that wheel-chair right now and don’t fucking argue with me. Once we’re back in your room, we’re going to have a nice little chat where we set up some rules that you sure as shit are going to follow. But that’s if, and only if, I don’t decide to strangle you to death first.”

 

“We’re fucked,” Bucky gasped.

 

“Totally,” Joey agreed. Steve probably would have gone through with his threat, if not for the fact that at that exact moment both Bucky’s knee and hip decided even they’d had enough, and he ended up collapsing to the floor.

 

Bucky got a new physical therapist after that.

 

Kali was an intelligent, well trained and very experienced therapist, who designed a challenging course of physical therapy for Bucky. But she set up reasonable expectations, and absolutely refused to allow Bucky to push himself past what she thought were acceptable limits, and made sure to monitor Bucky’s pain levels at each session and afterwards, adjusting her own scale so she could more accurately interpret the feedback Bucky provided. The fact that Steve was there for every following session probably also had something to do with that as well.

 

It was slower than what Bucky had previously been pushing for, and his recovery took longer than he would have liked. But there was progress, and a lot less pain after each session, to the point where within a week and a half, Bucky was indeed able to make several trips up and down the hallway, at a slow pace, yes, but unaided.

 

As soon as that goal was achieved, Bucky started pressing to be able to go home. Kali agreed, saying that at this point in Bucky’s recovery, any additional exercises could be easily performed in their house. Steve was not happy about it, and wanted Bucky to remain in the hospital for at least another week for further rehabilitation and observation. But at this point, four and a half weeks in, Bucky just really wanted to go home, and they ended up arguing about it almost constantly, where Bucky threatened to sign himself out and walk back to Brooklyn if he had to.

 

Thankfully, it never came to that. Because once again, Lulu came to his rescue.

 

“Let him come home mijo,” she told Steven after she had witnessed their latest argument. “There’s nothing they can do for him here anymore. The best thing for him at this point is to make sure he’s sleeping and eating enough. He can do that at home, and we can take better care of him there without all of these eyes watching him and wanting to study him like he’s a guinea pig.”

 

“I don’t know Lulu,” Steve was shaking his head. “I’d feel better about if he stayed here for a few more days, just to be sure.”

 

“He wants to go home. He needs to go home. Sometimes the best thing for a man is to be able to sleep in his own bed. And nobody can take better care of him than you and me. Everyone else will make sure that you're both safe while we’ll do.”

 

It took a bit more arguing, and both Joey and Dewy getting involved, but eventually Steve consented. The very next day, Bucky was discharged from the medical bay and on his way home.

 

Which was exactly where the two of them needed to be. Especially after Bruce walked in, and gave them the news that would forever change the rest of their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **pops her head out from bush** Look, are you even surprised by the cliffhangers anymore at this point? 
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	45. Thunder and Starlight

It was funny, how a single moment could change a life.

 

To look up from where you had been pushed into a pile of garbage, with a swollen lip and an already bloodied nose, preparing yourself for the next hit or kick, that never came, to see a boy standing there, his fists raised, ready to defend you.

 

Saying yes when that same boy, now a man, asked you for a kiss and a sip of your skin on the last night before he was shipped off to war.

 

Another yes, this time to an experimental serum, that would forever alter not only your body but how you perceived the world, and how the world perceived you.

 

Deciding that enough was enough, and your life was a fair exchange for the safety of the world and all the lives still left within it, if your death was the price that needed to be paid.

 

Slipping into, embracing that darkness and the eternal cold of it, only to wake up as if you had merely settled down for a nap, to a new world that was bright and loud, and filled with more things than you had ever dared dream possible.

 

A fight on a DC street, and flipping your opponent so when his mask fell off and they turned, you saw a face you never thought you would again, those blue eyes that had always brought you joy looking at you and not remembering.

 

Another confrontation, this time in a city so small, few others outside of those who lived there would be able to locate it on a map, and holding out a key that was a promise of home, that you needed just as badly as they did.

 

Saying yes again, to yet another kiss, and allowing yourself to slide into an embrace that you had been waiting, waiting, waiting for, for nearly a hundred years.

 

Receiving a phone call, that was a plea for help, that if you didn’t answer, the resulting loss would be worse than anything that had ever come before.

 

Steve’s life was an endless series of these moments, hundreds, maybe thousands of them, that always seemed to come out of nowhere, but had lasting ramifications he never would have been able to predict. And it appeared as if there was going to be yet another one, as he finished going over the out-care packet Dr. Tripathi had prepared for Bucky’s discharge, and headed back into his room.

 

He was not happy with the decision for Bucky to leave the Avengers’ medical bay. For all that his wounds and surgical incisions had started to heal over into scars that would fade, and could now walk on his own, (although barely), he was still weaker than Steve had ever seen him, tired way too quickly, and was far from out of the woods yet. But Bucky was determined to go back to their home on 52nd Street, and even Steve could see how the constant tests, observations and lack of privacy was wearing on him, so Steve had finally agreed.

 

They had already said their goodbyes to all of the staff, who had grown fond of Bucky during his time there, and spoken to every member of Bucky’s medical team at least three times to discuss what the next stages would be and warning signs they needed to look out for. No one really knew what to expect; Bucky’s body, like Steve’s, was capable of doing things no one could have predicted. But whatever it was going to do, it was going to do it on its own now, probably better and at a quicker rate once he was in familiar surroundings and able to fully relax. All that was left was to bring Bucky downstairs into the basement and to the armored truck Tony had provided that would drive them home.

 

Bruce was in the room when Steve walked in, Bucky already seated and waiting in his wheelchair for Steve’s return. He was holding his tablet, shaking his head at what he saw while he talked quietly with Bucky.

 

“It’s amazing, what the serums did to your body,” he was saying as Steve joined them. “I mean the Green Guy, he’s indestructible. There’s nothing that can stop him, and whenever I come back, he’s healed any wounds my body had. But this,” Bruce shook his head, “this is unlike _anything_ anyone has ever seen. I mean, you should have been dead, but once we got you stabilized and the tranquilizers flushed out of your system, your body started to immediately repair all the damage done to it, things even we don’t know how to fix.”

 

“Yeah well, thank god for that,” Steve said, reaching out and taking Bucky’s hand in his.

 

“Hmm,” Bruce said with a small nod and another glance at his tablet. “It’s also probably why neither of you are aging.”

 

“What?” Steve asked, not certain he had heard Bruce correctly. Besides him, Bucky went very still.

 

“Oh yeah, not a day,” Bruce went on absently. “Like I said, the Green Guy’s indestructible, and I don’t know if he’s aging at all, but I’ve got more grey hair than I did even a year ago. So who knows what’ll happen there. But you guys, from the bloodwork and scans we’ve done, have the DNA of twenty-seven year olds, about the exact same age you were when you were both injected, and not a single day older.”

 

“ _What?_ ”

 

The silence, heavy and thick, that followed Steve’s question was enough to cause Bruce to finally look up from his tablet, and at the two faces staring at him in shock.

 

“Didn’t…Didn’t anybody tell you?” he asked hesitantly.

 

“Tell us what?” Steve demanded to know.

 

“That, uh, that you’re not aging?”

 

“ _Are you shitting me?_ ” Steve let go of Bucky’s hand to run his own through his hair, not believing what he was hearing. 

 

“No Steve, I’m not,” Bruce told him, lowering his tablet to meet Steve’s gaze directly. And it was not the Hulk in him that Steve saw at that precise moment, but the brilliant scientist, focused and absolutely obsessed with discovering the truth and only the truth. “From what we’ve seen, and the tests that Tony, Dr. Tripathi and I have all run, with the rates your bodies heal and how neither of you have aged a day since you both came out of the ice permanently, it looks like you’re both going to live a very long time.”

 

“How long?” Steve gasped, as the enormity of what Bruce was saying collapsed over him not in a crash of ice and crushed metal, an endless cage of darkness, but of time, time, so much time, where he would be forced to watch everything he knew and love slip through his fingers, and there was nothing, _absolutely nothing,_ he would be able to do to stop it.

 

“We can’t say for sure, even with JARVIS verifying the results, but it looks like it may be centuries,” Bruce said quietly.

 

“ _Centuries?_ ”

 

“At least eight, from what we’ve been able to conclude.”

 

“Eight hundred years?” Steve wheezed, thinking that no, it couldn’t be true, it wasn’t possible, not with the way he suddenly couldn’t breathe, just like he couldn’t when he had been a scrawny teen-ager, and the only friend he had the one now sitting next to him, as quiet as the pause between every heartbeat his body now struggled for. “Bruce, are you telling me that the two of us are going to live long enough to watch all of you die?”

 

It seemed as if it finally struck Bruce then, the ramifications of the truth he had just laid out before them, emotional awareness and empathy replacing the scientific wonderment of before. “I’m sorry Steve,” he said quietly. “But probably so.”

 

“Bucky?” Steve whispered, turning to look at him for the first time. Because if anyone could possible understand what he was feeling, the enormity of it all that rattled his bones and for the first time in his life made Steve want to hide away in a dark corner where no one could find him, it would be Bucky.

 

But Bucky was quiet, thoughtful, his eyes lowered as he ran Bruce’s words over in his head. He just sat and thought and considered the facts before he came to his own conclusion. And once he did, he reached out and took Steve’s hand back into his own.

 

“It’s okay Stevie,” was all he said.

 

“How? How is this okay Bucky?” Steve demanded, trying to pull away, but Bucky wouldn’t let go. “We’re going to lose everyone we love Bucky, everyone. Watch them grow old and die…Sam, Clint, Dewy, Joey...Nina…Everyone Bucky, _everyone._ ”

 

“But that’s okay Stevie,” Bucky said again.

 

“How is that okay?”

 

“Because we’ll still be alive to remember them. We can tell their stories, tell everyone about how amazing they all were. And that way they’ll never be forgotten. We’ll be alive and we won’t forget. And that way they can live on and everyone will always know how amazing they were,” he said simply.

 

Steve stopped, all of his words and pained fear falling away. Because of course Bucky, who had lost more than anyone Steve had ever known, would also know how to survive this. He had survived death, the loss of everyone around him, and even himself, and not only had he survived, but had overcome and was thriving. He knew how to come back from nothing, and just like always, he would share that too with Steve.

 

“And me and you, Stevie,” he went on, with a soft smile, “always ‘til the end of the line, me and you. There aren’t enough centuries for my heart to ever stop loving yours. Even a thousand years wouldn’t be enough for that. But it might, just might, be enough for it to be a start.”

 

 _“Bucky.”_ It was not Steve’s voice, but his heart that spoke that time, answering, as it always had, the call of its other half.

 

Bruce smiled at him then, soft and warm, as he gently squeezed Steve’s shoulder before he turned and left, so the two of them could be alone.

 

***

 

After that, the rest of the day was relatively easy. They got Bucky home, deliberately choosing to arrive in the middle of the night when they knew the media circus that had camped itself outside of the row house would be gone for the evening, where both Joey and Dewy were waiting to help Bucky up the front steps, absolutely refusing any assistance from Steve. Bucky had taken a look at the redone steps, no longer cracked and peeling, and now perfectly even, at the repainted façade, an even brighter red than the original, and the spiked metal gate with the most advanced lock panel available, part of Steve’s homecoming present to him, sighed a tired but relieved sigh, and nodded.

 

“It’ll do,” he rasped happily, before he draped his arms over the shoulders of two of his three favorite women in the world, while they wrapped theirs carefully around his waist, and slowly helped him up the stairs, Steve standing sentinel behind them, just in case.

 

Once inside, Bucky took another look around, at the newly reconstructed, but stripped, walls of all the rooms on the first floor, and merely shook his head. Everything was bare, but the team Pepper and Steve had contracted had done an excellent job in a relatively short time, managing to remove all signs of the attack, including any lingering scents of smoke, and restoring the foundation to an even better than before state. But they had left the rest of it untouched, so  Bucky and Steve could finish the rest of the work themselves, once Bucky was finally ready.

 

Bucky accepted the state of the house with an uncharacteristic grace; either that or he was too worn out from the day to have an opinion on the matter. His two biggest complaints seemed to be the loss of the kitchen table, ‘ _I fucking loved that table!_ ’, and the destruction of his beloved Lay-Z-Boy, ‘ _Can’t even leave a man’s chair alone. Shit sucking, donkey fucking bastards._ ’

 

But then he saw the second part of his homecoming gift, the new and improved Lay-Z-Boy Steve had purchased to replace his older one, even softer and deeper, with heat settings that could be personalized, and enough pockets for any remote controls, books or guns Bucky might want to stash there, and smiled.

 

“Thanks Stevie,” he whispered with a smile as Dewy and Joey got him settled.

 

“Welcome home Buck,” Steve whispered back, just as the Pizzas climbed into Bucky’s lap, and Lulu emerged from their functional but unadorned kitchen carrying a full plate of pasteles and arroz con gondulez that she presented to Bucky with a flourish.

 

Once Bucky had eaten enough to feed a small army, Steve carried Bucky upstairs, and tucked him into bed, where after another contented sigh, Bucky slipped into a deep sleep, while the Pizzas curled around him, purring their lullabies so Bucky would remember he was home.

 

But that night, in spite of the relief of having Bucky back where he belonged, Steve was the one who found he couldn’t settle. Bruce’s words and the revelations they carried with them were still rattling around in his head, and every time Steve closed his eyes, even with Bucky sleeping besides him, their enormity kept Steve from being able to find any release.

 

So he did what Bucky tended to do when he needed to clear his mind, pulled on one of Bucky’s hoodies, and headed up to the roof so he could look at the stars.

 

That was where Thor found him, not too long after, when he stepped out onto the roof, and joined Steve where he sat on the ledge, staring out into the sky. Bucky may have recovered enough to come home, but that did not mean they were going to take any chances. There was still the press, and the possibility, however slim, that HYDRA might return to either repeat their attempts at recapture, or failing that, terminate his existence so he would not be able to provide any information on what remained of their inner workings. Bucky’s, and Steve’s, continued safety was everyone’s highest priority at the moment, so as a result this new band of brothers and sisters had agreed to a set schedule so they would never be alone in the house while they were still vulnerable. Clint had moved into the third bedroom on their top floor, and both Sam and Thor had agreed to take shifts, using Steve’s old apartment as their base so they would be close by in case they were needed. Clint had called it a night, and apparently it was Thor’s turn on duty. And in his Asgardian way, he had obviously decided to check in on Steve.

 

“I did not know you partook of that particular human habit,” he said after a moment, nodding at Steve’s hand.

 

“Believe it or not, cigarettes were actually part of the treatment for asthma when I was growing up.” Steve glanced at the cigarette between his fingers. “Medicated ones, different from these. I couldn’t stand them. They made me feel sick, and didn’t even work that well. Bucky’s always been the one who liked to smoke. He doesn’t do it very often anymore, but every once in a while he’ll come up here and have a couple. Says it helps to clear his head.” Steve lifted the cigarette and took another drag, holding the accompanying burn in his throat for a few seconds before he slowly exhaled, watching as the smoke curled before it blew away in the crisp December air.

 

“Is it helping you?” Thor asked quietly.

 

“Not really.” Steve shook his head and then shrugged. “But after today, I thought I’d give it a shot. See what it’s like. And it’s not like they can do any permanent damage to my body.” Steve took another puff that he exhaled with a sigh. “Apparently, nothing can anymore. At least not according to Bruce.”

 

“Ah,” Thor said with a nod of understanding. “He told you then.”

 

“You knew?” Steve glanced at Thor out of the corner of his eye. Thor shifted his position so that his hip was cocked against the ledge, his eyes steady and calm as they gazed at Steve.

 

“I knew,” he nodded. “But I knew that from the moment I first met you and then Bucky.”

 

“How?”

 

“Your energies are different,” Thor explained. “Stronger, more deeply woven and longer lasting than your fellow humans. Similar to those on Asgard, though not quite the same. And I will admit that I was relieved when you first introduced me to your Shield Mate and his were the same as yours. I thought you knew at first, but then I realized that you did not, neither of you. Once I became aware of that, I thought it wise to keep my own counsel until you did. You humans are very strange in regards to how you view your own lifespans. Always craving more, but making deliberate choices to shorten the time you do have.”

 

“Huh,” Steve said after a moment, taking another drag from his cigarette before he resumed staring up at the stars. “You know, when I was growing up, sick as I was, all of my doctors said I would be lucky if I made it to thirty. You should have heard the way Bucky cursed them all out when he heard about that, never mind my own mother.”

 

“Then is it really such a bad thing Steven, to be given this gift of a few extra years when it was very likely that you would have not lived long enough to get to where you are now?” Thor asked him quietly.

 

“Bruce said it’ll be at least eight hundred years Thor.” Steve shook his head. “That’s not just a few more years. That’s a long fucking time.” Thor didn’t respond, instead tilting his head to take his own turn at staring up into the sky. Steve finished his cigarette, and was smothering the butt in Bucky’s ashtray before Thor finally spoke again.

 

“How old do you think I am Steven?”

 

“I dunno,” Steve shrugged. “I don’t know much about your people Thor. Couple of hundred years, I’d guess.”

 

“I am fifteen hundred years old,” Thor told him, smiling when Steve jerked. “Oh yes. And I am still considered a very young man among my people. If the Fates are willing and all in agreement, I will live at least ten thousand, maybe even twenty thousand more. And I, unlike most of my people, have always been fascinated by yours, and have spent a lot of my time among you. I have watched your cities rise and fall, seen you succumb to plagues you could not stop, and witnessed you wage wars against each other. I have fallen in love with and been able to do nothing but weep as my human lovers have grown old and died, slipping through my fingers. So I know a little bit more about your people than most, and understand the loss and grief that is threatening to overwhelm you right now.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispered around a swallow. “I didn’t know that about you.”

 

Thor nodded his head in acknowledgement of Steve’s words. “Why would you?” He sounded so calm as he spoke of his loss and all the things he had seen, as if his life had not left its own marks upon his soul.

 

“It is not easy,” he went on, as if he had read Steve’s mind. “But you will learn to accept it, believe it or not. The pain does not become any less acute, but you come to understand that it is simply a rhythm of this life, and one that will pass. It hurts, yes, but it will pass. And there will always be more things to see, different things to learn and discover and love, that will fill you with a new joy, that if you let it, will allow you to heal so that you can appreciate them for the gifts they are. And there are so many things to see Steven, worlds to explore and people to meet. You will never get tired of it, if you allow yourself to embrace the possibility instead of fearing the potential.”

 

“You really are going to make a great king one of these days,” Steve said quietly.

 

“Thank you for that,” Thor nodded his head towards Steve again, a small smile on his face this time. “From one such as yourself that means a lot.” Then the expression on his face changed, growing serious once again.

 

“And you are very lucky Steven,” he continued after a moment. “You will have your Bucky by your side. He is a good man, with his own potential that he has yet to fully discover, and he loves you, very, very much. You could not have asked for a better Shield Mate than him, nor he for you. His love for you runs deep and true, and it will never falter.”

 

“It’s the same for me.”

 

“Then you are both blessed,” Thor said. “That is a gift, and one that is rare, even for those of us on Asgard.”

 

“What about you and Jane?” Steve asked, because Thor had loved her, had defied his own lineage out of his love for her. Yet as Steve sat there in the cold December night, star-gazing with a friend, he realized that Thor had not spoken of her in quite some time.

 

“You humans are very funny about time and your mortality,” Thor eventually said. “I loved my Jane, with all of my heart, but once she realized what it meant to be involved with someone from Asgard, how she would age while I would not, she could not bear it. It was too difficult for her to accept, so when she asked it of me, I had to let her go.”

 

“I’m so sorry Thor.” Steve reached out and draped his arm over Thor’s shoulder.

 

“It is what it is Steven,” Thor said, but he did not move away, instead allowing Steve to share his warmth with him. “But as I said to you, I have long ago learned to accept this kind of loss. But I also said this to your Bucky once. I am very jealous of the both of you. You found each other again, after being separated for so long. So neither one of you will ever be alone again.”

 

“Yeah well, don’t be too jealous. He’s still the biggest fucking pain in the ass I’ve ever met,” Steve snorted. Thor laughed.

 

“But you love him, with all of your heart. Do not deny it.”

 

“I wouldn’t,” Steve said, smiling for the first time since he had stepped out onto the roof. “He’s _my_ pain in the ass, after all.”

 

“And you are his, what does he call you, dumbass?”

 

“Tch,” Steve shook his head. “Don’t ever listen to a word he says.” Steve lowered his arm and reached for the packet of cigarettes, flipping open the top and holding it out to Thor. To his surprise, Thor actually took one.

 

“These things really are disgusting,” Thor said after a moment’s consideration. “Why do so many of you humans do this?”

 

“Dunno,” Steve shrugged. “Habit, I’d guess. You should probably ask Bucky about it.”

 

“I will,” Thor said. But he did take another puff before he resumed speaking. “And you will not be alone Steven, neither of you. I will be here as well, and I will help you get used to it. I am actually quite pleased to know that I will have the both of you as friends for quite some time to come. Who knows? Maybe one day you will both come to Asgard for a visit. I think the two of you would like it there.”

 

“You do know that Bucky has a tendency to punch things that piss him off with his metal arm, right?”

 

“Oh yes,” Thor agreed. “Why do you think I want him to come so badly? There are quite a few people on my world I would like to introduce him to.”

 

“Now you’re just asking for trouble.”

 

“Yes well, it is the spice of life, is it not?” Thor grinned. But then his expression changed, becoming sly and just a bit mysterious. “Speaking of trouble, the Valkyrie Dewy.”

 

“Yes?” Steve asked, having a feeling he knew where this was going.

 

“How do you think she would feel about being courted by an Asgardian prince? Do you think she would be strong enough to handle a courtship with someone who would obviously outlive her?”

 

“Thor,” Steve grunted. “She took on half the Avengers, and _won_ , while holding a baby on her hip and wearing a pair of high-heeled shoes. What do you think?”

 

“I know,” Thor beamed. “She is amazing.”

 

“Oh god,” Steve shook his head. “You and Sam.”

 

“Yes well,” Thor said, his posture shifting back to its usual bold cockiness. “I am royalty after all.”

 

“Just keep me out of it.” Steve turned so he could continue staring up into the diamond web of starlight. The sky seemed a lot less vast and lonely after their conversation, but he supposed that had been Thor’s intent all along.

 

“And besides,” Thor added. “Bucky likes me best. I am sure if I ask it of him, he will put in a good word for me.”

 

“Remember what I said about him having a tendency to punch things that piss him off?”

 

“And I have Mjolnir.”

 

“And remember what happened the last time we all pissed Dewy off?”

 

“Ah,” Thor admitted, staring down at the cigarette in his hand. He was playing with it more than smoking it, waving it around as if fascinated by the trail of light it left. “Yes, that.”

 

“Yeah, that,” Steve nodded before he decided that enough was enough, and cigarettes really were disgusting and put the second one out in the ashtray. But he didn’t go inside, not just yet. Yes, the air was cold and biting. But the sky was clear, and he could understand why Bucky always found it comforting to come out here when he needed to clear his mind. He felt small, but not insignificant, more like he was a part of something much bigger and vaster than himself. There was something quieting and peaceful in that.

 

But then again, it could have been the company.

 

“Thanks,” he said after another few moments of staring at the stars.

 

“You are very welcome Steven,” were the last words spoken on the rooftop that night. But the two of them stayed up there for a while longer, the shared quiet a gift between them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Stands up and brushes off pants, then pulls leaves out of her hair**
> 
> All right? We good now? Because I think the bush is going to start charging me rent. XD


	46. Regeneration

Steve would never be able to express to Thor how thankful he was for their post-midnight conversation and the following quiet spent in easy companionship. It allowed him to return to their bedroom, curl around Bucky and fall into a deep and easy sleep, that he ended up needing almost as much as Bucky did.

 

Because from that point on, their lives became a chaotic array of meetings, interviews, physical therapy sessions, home repair and recuperation that never seemed to end.

 

It started the very next day, with the arrival of Bucky’s lawyers, which was quickly followed by a group of agents from both Interpol and the CIA, where Bucky was immediately placed under house arrest and forced to wear an ankle monitor, until the day of his trial, which was scheduled to take place in two months.

 

And then began the interrogation sessions, which were recorded, and always with Bucky’s legal team present. Those could last for hours at a time, while the UN’s Security Council came at Bucky from a multitude of angles, sometimes repeating the same question in ten different ways, trying to either confuse or trick him into making a confession. But the lawyers Steve had hired were brutal, cunning and sharp, and would immediately object when they felt a legal boundary was being violated or Bucky was being asked a seemingly innocent question that had the potential to be incriminating. The investigators often left frustrated at the end of a session as a result, but that’s what Steve was paying this particular legal team for, so he had no complaints.

 

Then there were the questions and preparations said legal team required of Bucky, that could last just as long and were equally as grueling. Followed by Bucky’s first face to face meeting with Nick Fury, and then SHIELD’s team of investigators, where Bucky finally provided every single detail he knew about HYDRA, from names, dates and locations, to any and all code words he knew meant action was pending, the algorithms he had been using to track HYDRA for the Avengers, and finally surrendering his stolen laptop (or one of them anyway.) It was grueling and brutal, and never seemed to end, as Bucky recalled not only every face and name, and what he knew of them in terms of their place in HYDRA’s organization, but also what had been done to him, over and over, again and again, in agonizing detail. Some of it Steve hadn’t even known, and to watch Bucky being forced to speak of it was almost more than he could bear.

 

But Bucky did it. He sat there and answered question after question, recounting gruesome detail after gruesome detail, in a manner that was deceptively calm, except for the way his hand always clutched Steve’s tightly under the table, to the point where if he had been anyone else, Bucky would have crushed his fingers. Steve never once let go. And just like any other battle they had fought in the past, they faced this one together as well.

 

Then there was Bucky’s healing and his continued physical therapy, which they also needed to focus on. Kali visited their home once a day, every day, without fail, where she continued to help Bucky work on rebuilding his strength and endurance. Each session lasted two hours, and when Kali left, she always provided additional instructions and exercises Bucky could perform on his own to increase his strength.

 

Of course, Bucky had always been a sneaky bastard, determined to do whatever the hell he pleased.  That didn’t change simply because their house had been attacked, he had almost been killed, was facing an international investigation, and their street was constantly swarmed by an international media circus that hassled Steve and any of their friends whenever they entered or left.

 

Five minutes after Bucky’s lawyers and the interrogators departed that first day, Bucky made a call on his cell. Twenty minutes after that, Joey showed up with her laptop under her arm. Eight minutes later, she had hacked into his ankle monitor, and overwrote the programming with an algorithm of her own that allowed Bucky to come and go as he pleased. Once he figured out how to remove the bracelet, which took him less than two minutes to do.

 

And just because Kali left Bucky with approved exercises he could perform that would help his recovery, didn’t mean that Bucky was going to follow the guidelines she established. Oh, he did the exercises, and he did all of them. Along with plenty of his own that were not on the list, including forcing himself to walk up to the top floor and down into the basement several times a day, whenever Steve or anyone else was foolish enough to let him out of their sight for more than fifteen seconds. The worst, the absolute worst, was when Steve came home from a quick run to grab some pork buns Bucky had requested, and found Bucky in a pair of track pants, trying to put on his sneakers.

 

“ _James Buchanan Barnes_ , you better not be trying to do what I think you are!” Steve growled once he closed the door.

 

“Oh, uh, hey Stevie. That didn’t take nearly as long as I thought it would,” Bucky had the nerve to respond, with a cocky little smile. But Steve knew that smile, remembered it from their childhood, and he wasn’t going to let Bucky try to charm his way out of this one.

 

“I swear to god, Sergeant, if you don’t put that sneaker down right this instant, I’m going to shove it so far up your ass, you’ll be shitting shoelaces for a week.”

 

Bucky dropped said sneaker to the floor with a thud.

 

The second time it happened, less than two days later, when Steve had gone out to pick up a few items for the Pizzas at Petco, Steve decided enough was enough, and hid all of Bucky’s sneakers under the bed in Clint’s room. When he came home the next afternoon just as Bucky had finished tying Steve’s sneakers on his feet, he replaced _all_ of the shoes in the house, not just Bucky’s, but his as well, with flip-flops.

 

“Yeah, go ahead, I’d like to see you try to run in those,” Steve challenged him when Bucky actually had the nerve to complain about it. And then he did something, the very same thing Bucky had done to him what seemed like almost a forever ago, and (gently) pushed Bucky down into his new Lay-Z-Boy. He turned around, stomped up the stairs, and returned with a stack of catalogues in his hand that he dropped in Bucky’s lap.

 

“Look through those and try to find a new kitchen table. Find something nice. If I hear anything besides those pages turning, or you getting up to take a piss, while I’m working on the kitchen, I’m gonna come back in here and tie you to that chair.” Steve crossed his arms and glared at him. “And you don’t want me to do that Bucky. I may not have learned how to tie people up from HYDRA like you did, but I’ve learned a lot of shit from SHIELD since they pulled me from the ice, and believe you me when I tell you I know plenty of ways to make sure your ass stays in that chair. Trust me, you don’t want to test me on this one.” With that, Steve turned on his heel and stomped back into the kitchen where he had been spending his free time carefully rebuilding what HYDRA had so carelessly destroyed. It was and had always been the heart of their home, and in his own quiet way, when he wasn’t so pissed off at Bucky he was tempted to strangle him, he wanted it to be the first room on the main floor to be completed. Bucky loved to cook, and Steve loved to sit in the kitchen with him, talking about their days or laughing about something either one of them had seen, while Bucky showed off his knife skills and Steve teased him for it. And it deserved better than what had been done to it. So Steve worked on the kitchen, while for once in his life Bucky actually listened to what he had said, and spent the rest of the afternoon flipping through the pages of the catalogues Steve left him with, searching for the perfect kitchen table.

 

But later that night, once Steve had calmed down, and the two of them were laying in bed together, Bucky’s head on his chest so Steve could run his fingers through his hair, Steve remembered a mistake from their past, when Steve’s worry had turned into a desire to control, and the damage he had unintentionally caused as a result. The both of them had made so many mistakes in this journey of theirs together; that didn’t mean they couldn’t learn from them and do better this time around.

 

“Do you need to _run_ Bucky?” he asked, toning the word so that Bucky knew exactly what he meant. “Are the walls closing in on you?” Because if they were, Steve would somehow find a way to get Bucky whatever it was he needed to feel safe.

 

“Nah, it ain’t like that this time around Stevie,” Bucky answered easily, not even bothering to open his eyes.

 

“Then why?” Steve was honestly curious.

 

“I just don’t like feeling weak. I wanna get my strength back up as soon as possible.”

 

“You’ve never been the most patient person in the world, unless you were on a job. Then you could sit still for hours at a time. It shocked the shit out of me when I found out you could do that.”

 

“I used to spend hours sitting by your bed at night when you were sick back when we were kids. Watching over you, wanting to make sure I was there in case you needed me.”

 

“I always knew you were there, you know. Made a difference, I think, just knowing that.” Steve pressed a kiss, grateful and full of love, to the top of Bucky’s head.

 

“And I waited almost over seventy-five years before I kissed you again. Figured I got a right to be impatient every now and again,” Bucky murmured with a small smile.

 

“It’ll come Bucky, you’ll get there. Just be patient one last time, for a little bit longer.”

 

“Yeah I know,” Bucky admitted. “But not soon enough, because seriously Stevie, I miss getting laid.”

 

Steve snorted and tugged playfully on Bucky’s hair. “Jerk.”

 

“Punk.”

 

“Yeah, me too,” Steve eventually agreed. “But we can wait a little longer for that as well.”

 

Bucky chuffed at him, but didn’t move from his curl around Steve’s body. Steve went back to running his fingers through Bucky’s hair, Bucky’s chuff turning into a nearly inaudible purr.

 

“You’re handling this a lot better than I thought you would,” Steve admitted a few minutes later. It was the truth; after how Bucky had reacted the last time someone invaded their home uninvited, Steve had been worried the same thing would happen once they returned. It was a big part of the reason why Steve wanted to prolong Bucky’s hospital stay. With the condition Bucky’s body was in, he didn’t think he would have been strong enough to handle a nightmare, panic attack, or a flashback that would send Bucky screaming into the night. But there hadn’t been a single one, Bucky surprisingly calm and his moods even keeled, in spite of everything that had happened and was still happening around them.

 

Bucky didn’t answer him for the longest time, but Steve knew he wasn’t asleep. He was gathering his thoughts and searching for the right words before he shared them with Steve.

 

“It’s because you came for me,” he finally said, reaching up for Steve’s hand, pulling it from his hair, but only so he could lay it over his own heart. “The first time I ever told you about being put in cryo, you told me if you had known I was still alive, you would have come for me. This time you did know, and when they came for me, so did you.”

 

“Nothing was going to stop me Bucky, _nothing_ ,” Steve growled, tightening his fingers around Bucky’s where their hands were still clasped. “I would have burned the world if I had to, to get to you.”

 

“I know,” Bucky whispered with a small smile, his eyes still closed. “I knew it then. But I _believe_ it now, in here.” Bucky tapped both of their hands over his heart. “And that makes it different. I’m not scared anymore. There’s probably still going to be shit we’re always gonna have deal with, nightmares and rough nights. But I’m not scared anymore. I’m always going to watch your back, and you’re always going to come for me. That makes it easier. And for the first time in my life, I actually have faith that things are gonna be okay. And that’s because of you Stevie, only you. You gave me that, and I’ll always be grateful.”

 

“Same Bucky, same,” was all Steve could say, before he slipped his hand from Bucky’s so that he could wrap his arms around him instead. “Without you, there ain’t no me.”

 

“Yeah, me too Stevie, me too.”

 

***

 

Time passed, the days turning into weeks, turning into months.

 

Even though it took longer than Bucky would have liked, once he was in surroundings that were comfortable and familiar to him, and able to freely eat all of the foods he so enjoyed, he recovered more quickly than anyone could have predicted. It wasn’t instantaneous, but he regained all his lost weight and rebuilt his muscle mass, while Kali monitored his progress and Steve made sure to keep Bucky from over-exerting himself. But a month and a half after he had come home, and a final, permitted visit to his doctors, Kali cleared him to resume all normal activities, including exercise. And, most importantly, sex.

 

Which they had lots and lots and lots of. To the point where Clint, claiming he needed to spend some time with Natasha, ( _because_ ‘ _Holy shit, you two fuckers are loud!_ ’) began sleeping back in his apartment at the Avengers Tower, while still making sure to arrive for guard duty every day.

 

The first night Bucky snuck out of the house so he could finally go for a run, (because if he couldn’t manage to sneak out of his own damned house, then he deserved to get caught by the press, because who the hell did they think they were dealing with?) it ended up being more of a slow and measured walk, Bucky needing to stop after a few blocks so he could catch his breath.

 

“Shut up,” Bucky grunted in response to Steve’s arched eyebrow.

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“Okay, so maybe this wasn’t one of my best ideas.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Steve repeated, as he stepped forward and wrapped an arm around Bucky’s waist so that he could help him back home.

 

But it did get better, until it got to the point where Bucky started heading up to the top of their building, where he would take a running leap over the ledge and to the next roof, and then the one after that, until he reached the end of the block, where he would use the fire escapes to scale down to the street.

 

“I swear to god he’s going to give me a heart attack. And look, you see that, that’s a grey hair, right there, because of the shit he pulls!” Steve pointed to his head.

 

“That’s a cat hair,” Joey rolled her eyes at him.

 

“He sounds just like the Crow. Please tell me he wears a pair of tight leather pants while he does it,” was Dewy’s contribution to the conversation.

 

“What?” Steve asked just as Bucky said, “Who?”

 

“New movie to watch!” Clint chimed in.

 

“Ugh! I don’t even know why I bother with you people.” Steve threw his hands up in the air.

 

“Because you love me,” Bucky sing-songed.

 

“And because apparently you don’t have a gag reflex, at least from what I’ve heard,” Clint added.

 

“That too,” Bucky said without a hint of shame, raising his hand just in time to give Dewy a high-five.

 

Steve gave up at that point, because seriously, he really should have known better.

 

But time passed, as it inevitably did. Bucky recovered enough to not only resume exercising, but also work on the house, where they turned their attention into transforming Steve’s former office on the second floor into Bucky’s dreamed of study, before they starting working on giving Steve the dining room he wanted. (Steve didn’t let Bucky work on the kitchen; he hadn’t the first time around, and Steve once again wanted to be the one, and the only one, to give Bucky this gift.)

 

They had a small and subdued Christmas, with friends and family, where very few gifts were exchanged, and Nina ended up being the most spoiled baby in the world, and a just as quiet New Years. It was enough, for both of them to be alive and in love, and able to share that love with those that were the dearest to their hearts. It had been a rough and challenging year, with so many changes to their lives, and the fact that they had both survived it and were still standing was the greatest gift either of them could have asked for.

 

And besides, the date of Bucky trial kept drawing closer and closer, and they needed to prepare for that.  

 

The investigators kept coming, as did the lawyers, and Steve wondered if it was ever going to stop. Until finally all of the questions had been asked, the defense prepared and there was nothing for them to do but wait.

 

Due to the fact that it was obvious HYDRA was still out there, and as the recent attack proved, still a threat to Bucky’s safety, his legal team, with Nick Fury’s support, managed to obtain permission for Bucky to remain home, where the Avengers would act as his security, so he could testify and answer any remaining questions via video conference. A week before the trial was scheduled to begin, they insisted there was one last thing Bucky needed to do in order to help his case.

 

Cut his hair.

 

“That way when the world gets their first good look at him, they’ll see not a former HYDRA agent, but the Sergeant Bucky Barnes everyone remembers as the hero from their history books. The only member of the Howling Commandos who gave his life in service of his country. And there’s no one in the world who wants to see _that_ man go to jail,” they were told.

 

The very next day, Bucky got a haircut, all of his beautiful, long hair that Steve still loved to brush for hours at a time snipped and styled away.

 

Steve’s heart stopped when the stylist Pepper sent over was finally finished and Bucky stepped out of the kitchen and into the living room where everyone was waiting to see the results.

 

Because there, standing in their home, looking back at him was the James Buchanan Barnes from the 1940’s, who had always stood by his side and guarded his back, that Steve had last seen slipping from his grasp to what Steve had been certain was his death.

 

But…

 

But.

 

It was wrong.

 

Because it may have been Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes he was staring at, but it wasn’t his Bucky. His Bucky had longer hair, and a smile that was smaller but sharper than it had ever been. He was moody and caustic and had a tendency to want to smash things with his metal arm. He knew how to fix a house and hold a baby and when to press Steve’s face into the side of his neck so he could smell the ever-present scents of cinnamon and clove, and know that he was home. This Bucky had never pulled Steve from the Potomac after nearly killing him and tore himself free from HYDRA because Steve had asked him to. His Bucky wasn’t the Bucky from his past, but the Bucky of Steve’s now, his future, and Steve would never trade that Bucky for anyone or anything in the world.

 

The entire room was silent, waiting for Steve’s reaction as he stood there staring, blinking at this ghost from his past, Bucky the most silent of them all. Until finally, finally, Steve had to speak.

 

“I don’t wike it,” he finally mumbled, shaking his head.

 

“What do you mean you don’t like it? He looks fantastic!” Dewy asked in disbelief.

 

“I don’t wike it,” Steve repeated, knowing he was pouting this time.

 

“I have to agree with him, mijo,” Lulu said from her perch on the arm of the Lay-Z-Boy. “You look better with the longer hair.”

 

“What do you mean you don’t like it?” Bucky turned to her. “You were the one who was always after me to cut it.”

 

“Well, I was obviously wrong,” Lulu shrugged. “This just doesn’t suit you.”

 

“Maybe if we get him a copy of his old jacket, that would work better,” Dewy said.

 

“I don’t wike it.”

 

“Great, now you made Captain America sad. That’s just fabulous. You should all be very proud of yourselves. You made America cry. Go team Bucky,” was Joey’s contribution.

 

“I’ll grow it back out once the trial is over,” Bucky laughed as he came up to Steve and wrapped his arms around his shoulders.

 

“Promise?” Steve mumbled.

 

“Yeah, Stevie, I promise.” Bucky leaned in to press a kiss to his lips, soft and smooth and way too hairless.

 

“I still don’t wike it.”

 

“You’ll live,” Bucky said, before giving Steve another kiss, deeper and longer this time. And yeah, okay, he may not have looked exactly like him, but he was still Steve’s Bucky.

 

“Oh god, you two are gross. This is why I’m a lesbian.”

 

***

 

And then finally, in the third week of February, Bucky’s trial began. Bucky was indeed asked additional questions and to testify on his own behalf, while the lawyers argued back and forth and demanded more information than what Bucky had already provided.  Bucky’s legal team, along with the Stark Industries PR group had done an excellent job in preparing both Bucky and Steve for this should it happen. So Bucky was able to respond calmly and honestly, without getting tripped up by any leading questions or responding in a way that would call his emotional state into question. It was brutal and grueling, but it could have been so much worse, and lasted much longer than it ended up taking.

 

Instead, the entirety of the trial lasted only two weeks. And after only a few hours of deliberation, the judges returned with their verdict.

 

_Not guilty and full acquittal of any and all charges._

 

Bucky and Steve had been sitting side by side on their new couch, their hands tightly clasped together, their breaths held as they waited for the ultimate determination on Bucky’s future. When the words were spoken, and at last, at long last, Bucky was finally free to live the life they had both dreamed and prayed for, there was nothing but silence in the room.

 

It was the sudden shouts and cheers of everyone around them that broke the stunned hush that for just a second had frozen them in time.

 

“ _What?_ ” Bucky gasped.

 

“Not guilty, not guilty, cleared of any and all charges. They’re not going to take you away from us. Oh thank god Bucky, thank god! It’s over. You’re free!” Dewy was the first one to reach them, and she threw herself at them, wrapping them both in her arms. But only for a second, before they were buried underneath a pile of squealing and crying women and men who were clinging to them, each desperate to take Bucky into their arms.

 

“It’s – it’s over? I’m…I’m free?” Steve heard Bucky’s shocked whisper beneath all the other voices attempting to drown him out.

 

“Si, mijo, si,” Lulu said, cupping his cheeks in her hands so she could shower his face in kisses. “Oh my precious baby boy, my precious little mijo. You’re home now, and you get to stay here, with your family. And no one will ever take you away from us again.”

 

“Stevie?” His voice, _his voice_ , the only voice Steve had always been able to hear, no matter where he was or what was going on around him. So Steve answered his call, just like Bucky had answered his, all of those days, weeks, months, years ago on the helicarrier, and reached out for him, pulling Bucky into his arms, and against his heart, where he would never, ever let him go, as they both burst into tears, while their family and friends shouted and hollered, and called all of their love and joy out so the rest of the world would hear it.

 

***

 

And just like that, Bucky was free.

 

And then, just like that, because the legal team Steve had hired was the best money could buy, they argued that since Bucky had never been officially declared dead, and as a result his service to the Army never terminated, with a vicious glee they also managed to get Bucky over seven decades worth of back pay. Which, if carefully invested, would allow for Bucky to live very comfortably for quite some time. Nick Fury had arranged for a similar payment package for Steve when he first agreed to work for the Avengers, so money was not something the two of them were ever going to have to worry about for their very long and foreseeable future.

 

The press, of course, went crazy. The amount of reporters and news vans outside of their row house tripled in the very first day, and they were barraged by endless requests for interviews by all the major news outlets, wire services and magazines.

 

To everyone’s surprise but Steve’s, Bucky refused to give a single interview. His life and his privacy had been violated enough, and all he really wanted was to be left alone. The old Bucky would have preened and courted the attention, but all the Bucky of now wanted was to live his life with Steve quietly, while he continued to serve not only his country, but also the world, so no one would ever have to go through what he had and could live their lives in peace. Steve, having lived through several media circuses himself, completely understood.

 

Steve gave one interview, just one. After much deliberation, discussion and careful consideration with Pepper’s public relations team, Steve sat down with a reporter from TIME magazine, where, with Bucky’s permission, he spent three hours talking honestly about what the past few years had been like for them, and openly admitted in public, for the first time, the true nature of his relationship with Bucky.

 

The press once again went wild with the revelation. There was an even greater demand for more access to their private lives, and disgusting and nasty comments, some going so far as to demand Steve give up his shield, his position as team leader for the Avengers, and his status as Captain America. But by and large, to Steve and Bucky’s mutual surprise, the public was largely supportive, happy for the two them. It was so different from what their lives would have been like back in the forties, when they couldn’t have had this, and if they had, it would have been something they would have needed to keep secret from the rest of the world until the day they died.

 

But it was a different day, and a different world, and not all of it was bad.

 

Their neighborhood rallied around them, happy to have their hometown heroes back where they belonged. And there were smiles and hugs and slaps to their backs whenever they visited one of their favorite restaurants. Old Mr. Yuen even stopped scowling at Steve whenever they walked in.

 

But he still only put extra pork buns in Bucky’s bag.

 

It was another change in their lives, but a good one, the very best one. Because now whenever they left the house together, sneaking out through the back to avoid the press that was still camped out in their street, they could hold hands when they walked, or wrap an arm around a waist and stand closer than they ever could, breathing in the scent of the other, or laughing at a whispered joke, and anyone who saw them would just smile, or sometimes even give them a thumbs up. It was still going to take some time for them to get used to, but they had come this far and overcome much worse, and this would be the easy part.

 

So quiet lives, with their own risks yet, but by and large happy and filled with love.

 

Well, at least they would be, because first, they had to celebrate their victory.

 

***

 

Puerto Ricans loved to come together and celebrate. And they celebrated their joy with food and music and dancing.

 

Two weeks after Bucky was declared a free man, and one week after Steve had given his single interview, they put on their best suits, climbed into Steve’s SUV where Bucky drove them all to the event hall where the Rodriguez women had rented a room for the evening, and invited every member of their family so they could celebrate.

 

There was music and dancing and beautiful women in brightly colored dresses, and more food than Steve had ever seen in his life before. Lulu and Dewy had taken care of most of the preparations, only asking Steve and Bucky if there was anyone specific they wanted to add to the guest list, which included almost fifty people. As they had already emailed invitations to all of Steve and Bucky’s teammates, there were only a few additions they requested, but important ones, including the two lead lawyers from Bucky’s legal team.

 

“I can’t ever begin to thank you enough, for everything you’ve done for us,” Steve was saying to one of them now, as they stood together next to the bar, watching the crowd as they danced. He was a tall and handsome man, broad shouldered, with honey blond hair, golden skin and striking blue eyes. He had a confident walk, and a regal bearing to his carriage that he had used to his advantage during Bucky’s trial.

 

“It was our pleasure Steve, and once you and Miss Potts sat with us and explained the situation, we were more than happy to take the case on,” he answered sincerely.

 

“Still, Mr. Pendragon, you and your sister went above and beyond the call of duty for Bucky and me, and we’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

 

“Please, call me Arthur,” Arthur said with a warm smile as he sipped from his glass of wine. “And Morgana said she had a feeling that we needed to do everything we could to help you, and that things would turn out all right in the end if we did. She’s usually right about these things, and I’ve learned to trust her instincts.” Steve followed Arthur’s gaze over to the buffet table where he was staring at his sister. She was a stunning woman, elegant and tall, with a cascade of nearly black hair that reached her lower back. In the courtroom she was a force to be reckoned with, giving no quarter and tolerating absolutely no bullshit from anyone. But at the moment her face was alight with joy and laughter, as she carefully filled a plate for the just as beautiful dark skinned women standing by her side, whose own hand was resting on her stomach, full and round with a new life just waiting to be born.

 

“My sister and I are big believers in second chances,” Arthur said, once he noticed where Steve had been staring. “Not very many people get them. But you have. Make sure you don’t waste it.”

 

“I won’t,” Steve swore. It was a promise he had already made, to both himself and Bucky. But as he spoke the words, for some reason it felt as if he were making a pledge to something even bigger than himself.

 

“No, I’m sure that you won’t.” Arthur had a posh voice, with a refined accent that spoke of private schools and Ivy League education. “The world will always need more men like you and Sergeant Barnes. Take care of each other, because together you can survive almost anything.” Steve could sense there was something deeper to Arthur’s words than what he was saying, and was about to ask him about it, when they were interrupted by a voice calling Arthur’s name.

 

“Arthur, you clot-pole, is this where you’ve been hiding all this time?” it said, as a tall, skinny and ethereally beautiful man, with a mop of black hair, big ears and eyes nearly as blue as Steve’s own, emerged from the crowd and approached them. “You promised me a dance, you prat. Don’t think I’m going to let you get out of it.”

 

“All right _Mer_ lin, keep your pants on. I was just talking to Captain Rogers for a moment,” Arthur said with a roll of his eyes.

 

“You can do that later,” Merlin insisted, reaching out for Arthur’s hand. “They’re playing a merengue, and I’m going to teach it to you. It’s a lot of fun, you’ll see. Now come along. It’s been over a thousand years since I last had a chance to dance with you. Don’t think I’m going to let you get out of it now.”

 

“Enjoy the rest of your party, Steven,” Arthur called over his shoulder with a smile as Merlin led him away. “I’m sure we’ll be meeting again in the future.” And then he turned away and followed his lover out onto the dancefloor.

 

Steve was shaking his head, wondering if he had heard right, because he would have sworn he had heard Merlin say _a thousand years_ , when from by his side there came a deep sigh followed by an exasperated huff. He didn’t have to look down to know who it was.

 

“Hey Josie, how’s it going?” Steve asked as he turned to the bar and placed an order for two more drinks.

 

“It’s going all right, I guess,” she said with another sigh.

 

“What’s the matter? Aren’t you having a good time?” Steve handed her a glass of soda.

 

“No, I am,” she said after she took a sip. “But Abuela said I had to give Bucky a chance to dance with someone else.”

 

“He’s danced with you more than anybody,” Steve laughed. “He hasn’t even danced with me yet.”

 

“That’s because you’re a gringo who doesn’t know how to merengue,” she said in her snotty (and beloved) little way.

 

“Yeah well, I’m not a born again Puerto Rican like Bucky is,” Steve smiled.

 

“Oh please, you’re even more of a glutton than he is. I swear to god, I don’t know how we haven’t run out of food yet,” she sassed him, and took a sip of her soda. But then she fell quiet, her eyes running over the crowd until they finally settled on Bucky.

 

Everyone had come to Bucky’s party, including all of the Avengers. Clint and Natasha were dancing in one corner, while Bruce sat and quietly talked to one of Lulu’s nieces, a doctor who donated a lot of her time to Doctors Without Borders, and was working an improved and hopefully more affordable malaria vaccine. Wanda had come, and was standing amid of cluster of other teenage girls, looking surprisingly carefree as they all laughed about something. Maria was there, and she and Sam were determinedly making their way through every single offering on the buffet table, looking very pleased with the abundance of choices. Even Tony and Pepper had shown up, and they were now dancing, not too far from Arthur and Merlin, once Pepper had dragged him out onto the dancefloor. And Thor, Thor was probably having the best time out of all of them. He was wearing a maroon suit he had found somewhere, that worked on him when it wouldn’t have on anyone else. And he had not stopping dancing since they arrived. He danced with everyone, male, female, young and old, anyone who asked, following his own steps, but being utterly charming about it, his partners always smiling widely when they were done. He was even dancing with Bucky now, the two of them laughing as they spun and swirled around each other in the middle of the dancefloor, both of them beautiful, but only one of them making Steve’s heart race.

 

“He just picked me, you know,” Joey’s voice interrupted Steve’s thoughts.

 

“What?” Steve asked, looking back down at her. Her eyes were still locked on Bucky, following his every move.

 

“Bucky, he just picked me,” she went on quietly. “I didn’t have any friends before him, and one day he was just there in Abuela’s restaurant, and he started talking to me and making me laugh, and then for some reason, he just picked me to be his best friend. I don’t know why, no one’d ever done that before, not even my mother. But he decided to like me and be my best friend, and now everything’s better because he did.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Steve said in just as quiet a voice. “He did the same thing for me when we first met.” Joey turned to look at him sharply. “I wasn’t always Captain America, you know that right?” She shrugged. “I was a skinny, mouthy little shit that was sick all the time, but couldn’t stop getting into fights. And one day, this boy just shows up out of nowhere, beats up the kids that were ganging up on me, and just like that, he decided he was going to be my friend.” From the expression on her face, it was obvious she hadn’t known that. “So yeah Josie, I know exactly what you mean. Bucky can just look at someone and see everything they really are, deep inside. And if decides that he likes you, you’re never going to get a better friend in the whole wide world.”

 

“He takes such good care of the people he loves,” she said after another sip from her soda. And then, to Steve’s shock, she reached out and clasped his hand in her own tiny one. “But he needs to be taken care of too. He forgets that sometimes, I think. We have to make sure that we always take care of him right back, so he never does.”

 

“I plan on doing it for the rest of my life Josie,” Steve said as he squeezed her hand.

 

“Good, me too.”

 

It was at that exact moment the merengue that had been playing suddenly ended and a new song began, a salsa this time, from Steve’s best guess. Bucky and Thor finished their dance with a laugh and a hug, before Thor turned around in search of a new dance partner. He saw Dewy standing on the edge of the dancefloor, talking to another absolutely beautiful woman in a stunning and form fitting red dress, who was eyeing Bucky appreciatively, and made his way over, holding out his hand to Dewy with a smile.

 

“Ugh, Gloria,” Joey grumbled. “You better hurry up and dance with Bucky, because she has the biggest crush on him and has been trying to get into his pants ever since she met him at Nina’s christening.”

 

“Has she?”

 

“And that’s Freddito over there,” she said with a tilt of her chin, indicating a very handsome young man who was practically licking his lips while he watched Bucky dance. “And he’s been dying to meet Bucky ever since Dewy showed him his picture. And he’s a fireman. With full benefits. Including dental.”

 

“ _That’s_ Freddito?” And _oh no_ , Steve was not going to let this stand, because he could see how the sharks were in the water, starting to circle, and they were eyeing Bucky like he was a piece of meat.

 

But he needn’t have worried. At just that moment, Bucky turned to the spot where Steve was standing, because of course he never had to search to know exactly where Steve was, and smiled. It was the smile of sunrises and happy endings and every promise ever made fulfilled. And it lit up the entire room with a brightness that eclipsed everything and everyone. Well, almost everything and everyone, except for the matching brightness in Steve’s heart.

 

And just like that he turned and started to move, Steve’s very own jaguar that even the sharks couldn’t stand against, coming to lay his claim. But this time, the jaguar was laughing.

 

“Hey Joey, hey Stevie,” he said, bending over to kiss Joey’s cheek, before he straightened to give Steve’s lips a very tender kiss of their own. “How are my two favorite people in the world?”

 

“Good,” Steve murmured back against his lips.

 

“Ugh, the two of you are so disgusting,” Joey huffed in annoyance. “I’m going to go to the bathroom so I can puke now. And then I’m going to go get some more tostones, before that flying chicken eats them all.” She stomped off, but just before she disappeared from view she glanced over her shoulder and gave the both of them a small but happy little smile, that revealed a single, crooked fang.

 

“What do you say Stevie?” Bucky asked as his slid his left hand into Steve’s right. “Can I finally get this dance? It’s not like I haven’t been waiting for almost a hundred years to ask you to dance with me.”

 

“Yeah Bucky, you can have this dance,” Steve said, following Bucky as he led him to the dance floor.

 

“Thank god,” Bucky said, turning to pull Steve into his arms. “It’s about damned time.”

 

And it really, really was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, to everyone who has been reading this story, there is only more chapter left after this one, an epilogue that I will post within the next 24 hours. I can't thank all of you enough for coming with me this far. I have so much more to say to you, but that will be done in the end notes of the next chapter. But now, for one last time, just remember, comments and kudos make this author's heart soar, and she is eternally grateful for each and every one. =)


	47. The End of the Line...

**Epilogue**

**Six Months Later…**

 

With a blink, Steve sat back in his stool, taking in the room around him now that he had finally returned from the artistic fugue he had lost himself to. From the light pouring in through the windows and the shadows it cast upon the floor, Steve guessed that a few hours had passed since he had first come in here, and it was now sometime in the late morning. Stretching his arms over his head, he blinked again and took another look around, smiling at Pepperoni who had curled herself around his feet, before he returned his gaze to the canvas he’d been working on.

 

He was spending an increasing amount of time in his studio, feeling more inspired to create than ever before. He preferred to work during the early morning hours, when the streets outside were quiet and the sunlight its softest.

 

Sometimes Bucky would join him, whenever Steve could manage to lure him out of bed, where he would let Steve adjust and pose his body, Steve’s favorite subject and most beloved muse, so Steve could continue working on whatever image he was inspired by. Sometimes Steve would wander into the room by himself, when he just wanted some quiet time to lose himself in the colors and scents of his paints, and let his fingers take him where they would. On those mornings, Bucky would silently slip into the room, set a mug of coffee down on Steve’s drafting table, kiss his cheek softly, and just as quietly walk out, leaving Steve to it. Sometimes Steve would return from the image he’d been trying to create, turn around and see Bucky sitting on the floor, his back to the wall, quietly reading from the latest book that had captured his interest. He never spoke or interrupted Steve while he worked, but he always knew when Steve’s attention had returned and would bookmark his page, gifting Steve with a smile.

 

He wasn’t there this morning, but that was all right. Steve not only knew he was home, but exactly where he was in their house, patiently waiting for Steve to come find him.

 

Steve sighed as he stretched, and then took a moment to study his canvas. He still loved to sketch, but he had always had a great fondness for paints as well, not something they could afford back before everything had so dramatically changed. His current painting was a portrait, yet another one of Bucky, this time of him rising from the sea, the rippled muscles of his body a myriad of blues, his eyes the bluest tone of all. Steve cocked his head and gave it a careful examination. It wasn’t quite what he was trying to capture, but it was getting there. And if he asked, he was sure Bucky would agree to model for him, no matter how much he grumbled and groaned about it.

 

But he’d worked on it enough for today, and it was time to return to the world of the living, and see what Bucky had gotten himself up to.

 

After the trial in February, their lives eventually calmed down. Another news story had broken, or some celebrity somewhere had involved themselves in yet an even more scandalous situation, and eventually the media left their neighborhood in order to pursue the latest hot topic. It had only lasted for a few weeks, but for the both of them it was more than long enough.

 

From what Steve understood, a picture of the two of them together could still commandeer a high price. But one of those was nearly impossible to get. That wasn’t to say that the press or the curious onlooker on the street didn’t try; but they were nowhere near as skilled as two super soldiers who trained as hard as they did, especially when one of them knew how to disappear in the middle of a crowd when he wanted to. The only time anyone ever really got a chance to get a photograph of the two of them together was when Steve was scheduled to speak somewhere, for a cause he believed in, or because he felt his presence could help those in power make the right decision. Whenever those occurred, Bucky always accompanied him, where instead of having to hide in the shadows, he could stand proudly by Steve’s side in a suit of his own, Steve’s partner and equal in all things.

 

The only other place where someone could find a photo of the two of them together was on the Instagram account of one fourteen-year-old girl, the only one who ever seemed to capture a candid image of the two of them together, laughing and smiling and so very much in love.  As a result, Joey now had over two million followers, and suddenly everyone who had teased or made fun of her in school wanted to be her friend. But Joey was smarter than that, and quickly started watermarking and then copyrighting all the images she posted, while ignoring those who suddenly wanted to be her friend.

 

“They didn’t want to be my friends before they knew I knew the two of you. Why would I want them to be my friends now, when they only want to know me so they can use me for a chance to meet you,” had been her logic, delivered in her forever snotty little way, that both Steve and Bucky still adored.

 

Besides, Bucky was her best friend, and he was the best friend in the world. The rest of them could go fuck themselves.

 

Steve hoped she never changed. But she was changing and growing, as was the rest of their family. Nina was almost a year and a half now, was learning new words at a remarkable rate, and had long since started walking. Whenever Steve or Bucky showed up at Lulu’s house, she would come toddling over, her arms already reaching out for Bucky so he could lift her into the air. Steve would have been jealous, but she had a fondness for sitting on his shoulders, her fists clenched in his hair, giggling as Steve carried her wherever she decided she wanted to go.

 

Her first word had been _mama_ , spoken to Dewy on a quiet night. But her second word had been _dada_ , which she said to Bucky the first time she had seen him after he and Steve had been away for a few days on a mission with the Avengers. Bucky had cried for over an hour, as he cradled his little treasure against his chest, while Steve sat with his arm around him.

 

It wasn’t her third word, or her fourth, or even her sixth or seventh. But Steve she had named her _papa_ , just after she had spat up on him after he burped her. It was Steve’s turn to cry then, while Bucky held him, and Dewy assured him it was all right, and why she shouldn’t have two fathers, especially when there were no men in the world who would ever love her as much as they did.

 

The Rodriguezes were their family, not replacing their old ones, but something that was new and just as sacred. And not only did Bucky treasure and adore them, but he needed them as well.

 

There had been a strange situation that had developed, once the trial ended and Bucky’s identity verified, when members from Bucky’s first family had reached out, the children and grandchildren of Becca, Brea and Beth, wanting to meet the long lost uncle and war hero they had grown up hearing so much about, but never thought they’d get the opportunity to meet. To everyone’s surprise, including Steve’s, Bucky refused.

 

“I’m not that man anymore Steve,” Bucky told him when Steve had asked why. “And I don’t remember them, any of them.” That seemed to be the price Bucky had to pay for his freedom. While he had remembered almost everything else, and recovered quite a few memories of his father, he still could not remember anything about his mother or his sisters, not even their faces, no matter how hard he tried. Bruce had a theory that the erasure of those memories, the first memories of family, love and warmth, was what HYDRA had used to finally break him. And it didn’t look like those were ever going to come back.

 

“And they’re going to expect me to remember who they are and have all these stories to tell them, and I can’t Stevie, I just can’t,” Bucky had gone on, as he exhaled a plume of smoke and stared up at the sky.

 

“Okay Bucky, okay,” was all Steve had said. He disagreed with Bucky’s decision, but it wasn’t his choice to make. All he could do was respect Bucky’s wishes on the matter.

 

He went to visit them himself instead, carrying with him Bucky’s apologies, trying to be as delicate as possible while he explained Bucky’s reasons. They had been disappointed, not able to understand why Bucky wouldn’t want to meet them, but extending an open invitation for Bucky to come visit any of them if he ever felt ready to. They had also given Steve a box they had prepared, filled with old photographs and letters, of their mothers and concerning the lives they had led that they insisted Steve bring back to Bucky.

 

As far as he knew, Bucky had never opened the box. And it remained, still untouched, in the hidey-hole in the back of their bedroom closet, until the day Bucky would be ready to look through them.

 

The Rodriguezes were not a replacement for the Barnes, and Bucky never considered them such. But they were the family that Bucky had found, and once again decided to share with Steve, because that’s who he was, and that’s who he’d always been. And Bucky would give Steve the world if Steve asked. But in reality, having Bucky was more than enough.

 

And then there was their other family, the Avengers, who they both spent time with, almost, but not quite nearly every day. Clint and Bucky were still as thick as thieves, and they always knew when Natasha was away, because he would show up unannounced at their door. Sam was spending a lot more time in New York than DC these days, and he was considering purchasing Steve’s apartment on Seventh Avenue so he could have a place that was his own if and when (and it really was a when at this point) he finally did move to Brooklyn permanently. Thor still showed up as much as he could, and they both always greeted him warmly, even if it did seem as though he was more interested in spending time with the Pizzas or Dewy than he was with anyone else.

 

But mostly, it was him and Bucky, living their lives just like they had always wanted to, step by step, day to day, and side by side. Madly, deeply, endlessly in love.

 

It had only been a few hours since he had last seen him, but it had already been too long and Steve was missing him as he made his way downstairs into the kitchen where he knew Bucky would be.

 

As he stepped from the stairs and turned into the kitchen, his hips easy and loose from the way Bucky had fucked him, slow and easy, for hours all night while whispering dirty little promises in Steve’s ear, Steve saw Bucky standing there and froze.

 

Bucky was in front of the counter, fixing the both of them a late breakfast. He was wearing tan slacks, a tight-fitting white t-shirt and a pair of suspenders, and Meatball was draped over his shoulders. There was music playing from his phone, and he was humming along, dancing on his feet as he listened to some song about rides and motorcycles, easily slicing through the mushrooms, onions and peppers he was going to use for the omelet he was making.

 

And suddenly Steve couldn’t move. Because he was struck by a memory, vivid and acute, and one he didn’t even know he had.

 

_Of coming home from his job, and trudging his way up the stairs and to their little corner apartment. It had been a hot and humid day, and nothing had gone right, and all Steve wanted was to go home. When he finally reached their door, unlocking it and stepping inside, Bucky was already home from his construction job. He was standing in the tiny corner that had been set aside as their kitchen, dressed in pressed chinos and a white undershirt, with a pair of suspenders over his shoulders. The radio was on, and he was singing along to an Ella Fitzgerald song while he fixed them something for dinner. He heard Steve come in, and looking up with a smile that was bright and full of joy and mischief, and obvious happiness that Steve was back, said, “Hey Stevie. Welcome home, go sit down, I’m making us some dinner.”_

_Steve had never been so grateful in his life._

 

Steve blinked again, and the memory was gone, but not the image, because the Bucky who had turned to smile at him was almost exactly the same as the one he had just seen in his mind’s eye. He was bit taller and his shoulders broader, the perfect perch for his favorite little Earth dragon. Instead of leather shoes he was wearing a pair of bright red Converse sneakers. He had lived a hard life, and carried horrible scars, and his left arm was made of metal.

 

There were even differences from just two years ago. His hair had finally grown back, and was longer now than it had ever been. He had pulled it up into a high ponytail to keep it off of the back of his neck during the warm and muggy August heat. Or maybe simply because he knew Steve loved it that way.

 

And then there was the mark on his upper left arm.

 

Steve never knew how he had managed it, but for his birthday that year, Bucky had lifted his left sleeve to show Steve his bicep. Except where the red star had once been were now three moons, locked in a triangle, each in a different phase. When Steve asked what they represented, Bucky told him, “They’re the phases of the moon on your birthday and mine, and then the day on the carrier.” When Steve had followed up by asking him why, Bucky simply shrugged and let the sleeve fall back into place. “They’re our beginnings. The day you were born, the day I was, and then the day when we fought, when I remembered you again for the first time. That was the day it all started again. When you brought me back. One of the most important days of my life, even if I didn’t know it yet. But it was important, more important than that red star. I’ll never forget you again Stevie, and we’re never going to end, but we did have our beginnings, and I wanted to remember those too.”

 

Steve would never ever forget either, just like he would never forget that night, when the two of them spent hours body to body and skin to skin, each making the other scream in the way only the two of them could.

 

But now, on this bright August morning, as Bucky stood in their finally refinished kitchen, his smile was just as bright as it had ever been. Because no matter where he had been or how long he had been away, Bucky was always so happy to see Steve whenever he was there. Because Steve had always been his, just like Bucky had always been Steve’s.

 

And suddenly Steve knew how he wanted to spend the rest of their day.

 

“What’s going on with you?” Bucky asked as he cracked half a dozen eggs into a bowl one handed. “You got that look in your eye Stevie, which I know means you got something planned.”

 

“Nah Buck, I was just thinking,” Steve grinned as he stepped over to the counter and stole a mushroom, barely managing to avoid Meatball’s claws as he swiped at his fingers.

 

“Well shit, now I know we’re in trouble. Nothing good ever came outta you thinking,” Bucky said with a roll of his eyes.

 

“Shut up, you asshole.” Steve shoved him playfully. Bucky shoved him right back. “I was just thinking,” Steve began again.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“How about after breakfast me and you go out for a ride?”

 

Bucky was officially a member of the Avengers now, and he had a motorcycle of his own that he used whenever they were called to duty. But he still loved to go riding out with Steve. Except when it was just the two of them, Bucky usually forewent his own bike, preferring instead to ride on the back of Steve’s, his arms around Steve’s waist while Steve led the way, and Bucky followed, doing what he always did, protecting Steve’s back, the best shield he had ever had.

 

Bucky glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, before his lips quirked into the slyest of little smiles. “Yeah all right. You know I’ll go anywhere with you as long as we’re together.”

 

If they were lucky, they would have at least another eight hundred years with each other. Bucky had been the first one to say it, but he was right. It wasn’t enough, it would never be enough.

 

But as long as they were together, it would be a damned good start.

 

***

 

And this, this was their life now.

 

FIN

 

 

 

 

**END NOTES**

 

So, for anyone who has made it all the way to the end of this series, a couple of extra tidbits in case you were wondering:

 

Joey and Bucky remain best friends for the rest of her life, and continue to get into a hell of a lot of trouble along the way. In my mind, I imagine Joey is one of the first people accepted into one of Wakanda’s universities when they finally open their borders, where she also becomes good friends with Shuri. She ends up becoming the head of SHIELD’s cyber and information security, never quite taking over the world, but devoting her life to making sure it’s as safe as possible. She also ends up marrying a beautiful woman, a neurosurgeon, who yes, does have freckles and long, curly hair, who she has two beautiful daughters with, who continue the family tradition of getting insanely spoiled by both Bucky and Steve.

 

Dewy – Throughout the last half of the story, I dropped shipping hints about Dewy with both Sam and Thor. Does she end up with Sam? Thor? Some combination of the two? That I leave up to your imagination. Just remember, Dewy is her own woman, and very proudly so. But no matter who she ends up with, if she ends up with anyone at all, you can always find her and Bucky in her bedroom on Thursday evenings, watching the shenanigans of Gus and his Senora Ramona through her bedroom window, eating snacks, while talking about her latest pair of shoes.

 

Lulu ends up living a very long and satisfying life. Sometimes she has to stop and take a moment as she looks around at all of the people who are now a part of her family and her heart, and give thanks for all the abundance she has been graced with in her life.

 

Lastly, there’s Nina. In short, Nina is my gift to all of you. In this story, Nina came into this world as a little girl who was lucky enough to be born to the Rodriguez clan, an element of softness and sweetness so Bucky could rediscover how to love someone unconditionally. I think we all need a little bit of that in our lives. To that end, I leave both Nina’s future and identity up to you. Maybe she grows up, finds a lovely husband and has four children. Maybe she remains single and childless all her life. Maybe she’s ace, or bi, pan, trans or genderfluid. Perhaps she deals with ADHD or is on the spectrum. Whatever you need Nina to be, that’s who Nina becomes. The only caveat to that, is that Nina always keeps the middle name Sarah, because that was the first gift given by Bucky, and it means so much to both him and Steve, and Nina will never forget that. But whatever Nina’s future holds, just know that she grows up treasured and adored by an amazing family, and two super-soldiers who spend the rest of their lives making sure Nina is safe, loved and accepted for whoever she decides to be. It’s your happy ending. You all deserve the best one. <3 

 

***

Now for some serious bits.

 

First and foremost, I once again have to thank katherynefromphilly. When the idea for this series first struck, and I complained to her about The Thing that had started taking over my brain, she laughed at me. But throughout this entire experience, she has been nothing but a constant comfort and endless stream of support. (She even helped me with research during certain bits.) She is a dear, dear friend, and a fabulous writer in her own right. If you’re a Merlin fan, or even just want to read some really awesome stories, you should check out _And like the cycle of the year, we begin again._ It’s one of the best pieces of writing I have ever read, and reading it led to one of the most valuable friendships of my life, so I can’t recommend it enough.

 

And then there is Merry_rf. I can never begin to express my gratitude to Merry. When I reached out to her in search of a beta, and she agreed, she had no idea what she was getting into. But she was kind and generous with her time, and persevered through almost 400 thousand words of my writing, making it so much better than I ever could have done on my own. She has also become a very close and treasured friend. My only complaint is that she lives so far away, because I need to give her a hug and buy her endless bottles of wine for everything she has done for me.

 

Lastly, there is each and everyone of you. I started writing this series in February of last year, all because I saw a gif on Tumblr where this strangely beautiful man with a metal arm and tragic eyes caught Captain America’s shield and flung it back at him. I hadn’t seen any of the MCU movies, and had no idea who he was. When I asked another friend of mine, who was a huge MCU fan, who that was, she merely laughed at me and said, “Oh honey, we have a couple of movies we need to watch.” I couldn’t have begun to imagine what that simple question would lead to – watching all of the Captain America movies, then the rest of the MCU films, realizing Stucky was my OTP, and turning to AO3 to get more of my Stucky fix. Deciding to write my own take of their relationship, and then, eventually, posting the results. And, and this is the important part, getting to interact with each and everyone of you. This series has taken up more than a year of my life. And during that time, you all have been an unbelievable and unexpected gift. There are those of you, too many to count, who have been with me from the beginning. Not only that, but some of you have been so generous as to comment on each and every chapter I posted. You were kind enough to share ideas, theories, jokes, favorite foods, songs, and some of you even went so far to write your own stories based on what I have written. All of your comments have made me laugh, made me cry, and lifted me up during some very dark days. I have made more friends, from all over the world, than I ever thought possible. There are too many names to list here, but know that I adore each and everyone of you, and as this series reaches its conclusion, I am so grateful for each and everyone of you. There are no words to express just how grateful I am, but know that the feelings are there, in my heart, for each and every one of you.

 

It’s a strange thing, to have finally reached the end of this series. I am both relieved and heartbroken that it’s finally here. I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do now that I won’t be posting a chapter every Tuesday and Friday night after doing it for nearly a year, and I am sure as shit going to miss all of the wonderful conversations those chapters led to. But it’s time to end Steve and Bucky’s journey and let them get on with their lives. I’ve said from the beginning I wanted to give them the happy ending I felt they deserved; whether I succeeded or not is up to you, but if nothing else, I hope you enjoyed the journey I took them on.

 

Will I ever write another story in this universe – I doubt it. But, if anyone isn’t absolutely tired of my blabbing at this point, I am working on another story for the Captain America Reverse Big Bang. It’s Bucky-centric, and in it Bucky adopts a puppy that helps him recover from all he’s been through. I have a great artist, and her work has provided me with tons of inspiration. After that, there’s another idea rattling around in my brain, a Stucky fantasy-AU, that hasn’t turned into a THING just yet, but feels like it is just waiting its turn. So, we’ll see.

 

Lastly, and yes, this is the last bit, I PROMISE, in case anyone was curious, the song Bucky’s listening to in the Epilogue when Steve comes into the kitchen is Come Get It Bae, by Pharrell Williams:

 

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lTOekWUjAhs>

 

There is one song that has been the theme of this entire series. The first time I heard it, it was so perfect it actually brought tears to my eyes, and it is forever more my Stucky theme. Except this song manages to say in three minutes what took me nearly 400 thousand words to express. That song is We Stay Together by Andrew Galucki. If you give it a listen, I think you’ll know why it’s the theme song for this series. Even if you don’t, it’s still a beautiful song, and I hope you enjoy it.

 

https://youtu.be/0SbyEcmwd8o

 

If there is one thing that you take from all of this, just remember that I love and am so grateful for each and every one of you. Keep being you, because you’re precious, and treasured, and adored. I would hug you all of you if I could, but since I can’t I will leave you with this…

 

**hugshugshugshugshugshugshugshugshugshugshugshugs**

 

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is for now, The End.

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Reasons](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16568348) by [Yeneffer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeneffer/pseuds/Yeneffer)
  * [A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words and More Valuable Than a Thousand Dollars](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17123111) by [kawherp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kawherp/pseuds/kawherp)
  * [Little genius](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17525183) by [Yeneffer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeneffer/pseuds/Yeneffer)




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